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OORDAN 


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AGREE  KS 

149  PAC  .'JE 

LONO  »CACH.  CALIF. 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand 


By 

Kate  Jordan 

[Mrs.  F.   M.  Vermilye] 
Author  of  The  Kiss  of  Gold,  The  Other  House,  etc. 


Poised  for  an  instant  in  the  master's  hand, 
Body  and  soul  like  to  a  compass  stand  — 
The  body  turning  round  the  central  soul, 
He  makes  a  little  circle  in  the  sand. 

Le  Gallienne's  rendering  of  the  Rubidydt. 


Lamson,  Wolffe  and   Company 
Boston,   New  York  and  London 


MDCCCXCVIII 


Copyright,  1898, 
By  Kate  Jordan 


Copyright,  1898, 
By  Lamson,  Wolffe  and  Company 


A II  rights  reserved 


To 
F.  M.  V. 


A   Circle   in   the    Sand 


Chapter  I 

THE  office  boy  stood  beside  David 
Temple's  desk,  a  slip  of  paper 
on  which  a  name  was  written  in  his 
hand.  He  knew  better  than  to  inter- 
rupt the  editor  when  his  pen  was  racing 
in  that  aggressive  way,  so  he  stood 
rumpling  the  bit  of  pink  paper  with 
grimy  fingers  while  speculatively  re- 
garding a  fly  running  unmeaning  races 
from  a  cloudy  map  of  the  United  States 
to  the  big  ink  bottle  occupying  the 
centre  of  a  very  untidy  desk. 

The  day  was  breathless  and  humid. 
From  the  earliest  hours  the  sun's  rays 
had  swept  the  streets  like  destroying 
glances  from  a  malevolent  eye.  The 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand 


dusty,  ink-spattered  offices  of  the  New 
York  "  Citizen  "  were  stifling.  Beyond 
the  open  windows  could  be  seen  sun- 
baked roofs,  spires,  and  chimneys 
swathed  in  a  hot  mist.  Every  man  in 
the  editorial  rooms  was  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves. Some  had  discarded  moist 
collars.  All  were  working  hard. 

David  Temple  laid  down  his  pen  and 
glanced  over  the  hastily  written  page, 
his  expression  determined. 

"  That'll  make  them  hum,"  he  said, 
and  without  looking  up  he  touched  the 
bell,  at  the  same  instant  becoming 
aware  of  the  boy  beside  him. 

"  Here  you  are.  Take  this  down, 
Pete,  just  as  fast  as  you  can.  Eh? 
Some  one  to  see  me  ?  All  right.  Tell 
him  to  wait.  Come  back  at  once." 

He  picked  up  the  paper,  the  kind  in 
use  in  the  office,  bearing  the  directions: 

"  Name .  State  business."  "  Anne 

Garrick"  was  written  in  lead  pencil 
upon  it.  The  latter  request  was  un- 
heeded. 

David  laid  it  down,  lit  a  cigar,  and 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand 


went  over  to  the  window.  It  was  a 
still,  maddening  day;  the  horses  toiled 
between  their  shafts;  the  springs  of  life 
moved  wearily  even  on  Park  row.  He 
looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  half-past 
four.  At  six  he  was  due  at  The  Play- 
ers to  dine  with  an  actor,  who,  by 
means  of  a  haunting  voice  and  a  pair 
of  fine  eyes,  enjoyed  an  income  that 
equalled  the  Vice-President's.  He  had 
promised  to  go  to  a  dance  on  board  a 
yacht  anchored  in  the  Sound.  He  be- 
gan to  wish  he  could  escape  the  latter 
and  instead  find  his  way  to  the  ham- 
mock on  his  roof-top,  where  he  could 
smoke  under  the  stars.  At  thirty-six, 
with  hair  whitening,  he  was  getting 
past  dances. 

"  The  young  lady  "  —  commenced 
Pete  timidly  at  his  elbow. 

"Oh,  there  is  a  lady!  I'd  forgotten. 
Show  her  in,"  and  he  slipped  on  the 
alpaca  coat  lying  across  the  chair. 

The  swinging  door  was  pushed  back, 
and  Anne  Garrick  came  toward  him. 
She  seemed,  in  the  first  inattentive 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand 


glance,  tall,  slenderly  made,  her  face 
showing  marks  of  care  or  illness,  yet 
pretty  enough  to  be  interesting.  Her 
eyes  were  long,  very  bright,  yet  soft, 
and  they  were  a  deep  brown  like  her 
hair.  Her  gown  was  of  mourning  cloth 
and  she  wore  a  black  sailor  hat. 

David  drew  a  chair  forward  for  her 
and,  seating  himself  opposite,  let  his 
great  shoulders  rest  easily,  while  he  re- 
garded her,  as  was  his  fashion,  through 
half-veiled  eyes. 

"  Miss  Garrick?"  he  said,  glancing  at 
the  slip.  "  What  can  I  do  for  you  ? 
You'll  pardon  me  if  I  tell  you  at  once 
that  I  have  a  dinner  engagement  at  six 
and  have  only  a  few  moments  to  spare." 

This  was  said  with  one  of  David's 
confidential  smiles. 

"  I  sha'n't  keep  you  long,"  she  said, 
leaning  forward,  "  Dr.  Ericsson,  my 
uncle,  sent  me  to  you." 

"  Oh,  yes.  How  is  he  ?  I've  not  seen 
him  for  a  month." 

"  He's  very  well,  thank  you." 

"  So  you  come  on  business  from  him  ?  " 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand 


and  David  breathed  freely.  "  Do  you 
know,  Miss  Garrick,  I  was  afraid  you 
were  here  as  an  applicant  for  work  on 
the  paper  ? " 

"  So  I  am,"  she  said,  her  eyes  amused. 
"  Is  it  quite  useless?  " 

"You  mean  you  really  want  news- 
paper work  ?  "  and  his  tone  was  almost 
reproachful. 

"  I  really  do.  I  want  it  more  than 
anything  else  in  the  world.  Indeed,  I 
want  nothing  else,"  she  said  earnestly. 

"  You  have  some  illusions  about  it, 
perhaps  ? " 

"I  don't  think  so,  and  I  must  work." 

The  words  were  spoken  lightly,  but 
with  an  urgent  note.  David  was  in- 
terested. His  fingers  fell  from  the  fob 
he  had  been  twisting  in  regard  for  the 
passing  moments.  He  noticed  the  line 
of  impatience  between  her  straight 
brows,  the  intensity  in  the  bend  of  her 
mouth,  the  paleness  of  her  worn  yet 
youthful  face,  her  intent  attitude. 

He  had  met  many  women  demand- 
ing just  such  martial  struggles  in  the 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand 


battle  of  existence.  Here  was  an- 
other. What  should  he  say  to  her  — 
the  old  objections,  the  old  warnings? 
He  was  disinclined  for  the  task  more 
for  some  reason  now  than  ever  be- 
fore. But  the  "Citizen"  did  not  want 
women  among  its  workers.  That  was 
one  of  his  father's  prejudices  which 
he  had  never  set  aside. 

He  returned  to  the  argument,  but 
his  tone  was  still  persuasive.  This 
surprised  himself,  yet  he  felt  it  was 
because  Miss  Garrick  came  from  Dr. 
Ericsson,  and  his  liking  for  the  old 
Swedish  physician  was  a  very  deep 
one.  He  would  not  admit  to  himself 
that  there  was  another  reason  —  the 
youth,  the  charm,  of  this  woman  mak- 
ing the  plea  he  had  rejected  so  often. 

"  The  work  is  terribly  hard,  Miss 
Garrick,  and  really,"  he  said,  as  if  mak- 
ing an  admission  almost  against  his 
will,  "  I  don't  regard  the  newspaper  as 
a  field  for  women." 

"Don't  you?     Why  not?" 

"  Oh,    it's    a   blistering   atmosphere, 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand 


and  women  were  never  meant  to  find 
nourishment  in  hard  facts.  I  advise 
you  to  do  something  else  —  write  a 
book,  or  teach,  or  anything." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Temple,"  she  said  with  sud- 
den earnestness,  "  I  don't  feel  that  way 
about  it!  I  want  to  be  a  journalist." 

David  felt  a  desire  to  know  her  a 
little  better  —  to  hear  her  views  and 
then  dismiss  them  successfully.  He 
had  still  fifteen  minutes  to  spare.  He 
began  to  think  she  was  very  pretty. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  on  a  paper?" 

"  No,  although  I've  written  a  great 
deal,"  she  said,  while  watching  him 
intently.  "  I  thought  I  might  get  some- 
thing to  do  regularly  —  some  position. 
I  know  I'd  succeed.  I  wish  you'd  try 
me." 

"  No  —  I  can't,"  he  said,  almost 
brusquely,  "  and  I  hope  you'll  change 
your  mind  and  try  something  else. 
Besides,  I  haven't  anything  I  could 
offer  you,  nothing  a  woman  could  do 
—  much  too  difficult.  You  take  my 
advice  and  try  something  else." 


8  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

"I  think  I  know  what  you  mean" 
—  and  she  stood  up.  "  You  think  this 
work  hardly  feminine  "  — 

He  nodded.  She  looked  disap- 
pointed, but  unconvinced. 

"  And  you're  afraid  of  encouraging 
incompetence." 

"Oh,  no,  really,  I"  — 

"Yes,  I  think  you  are.  Well,  I'll 
tell  you  just  the  way  I  feel  about  it.  I 
must  be  a  journalist  "  — 

"  Why  must  you  ?  " 

"  Because  I  know  Pm  fitted  for  it, 
and  the  life  attracts  me.  I  might  have 
preferred  to  be  a  painter  or  a  musician, 
but  we  are  not  allowed  to  select  our 
talents."  She  smiled  and  moved  a  step 
away.  "If  you  can't  employ  me  there's 
nothing  more  to  be  said  about  it,  and 
I'm  sorry  for  having  detained  you. 
But  —  somebody  else  will  employ  me. 
I've  only  been  in  New  York  a  month, 
and  you're  the  first  editor  I've  seen. 
This  will  explain  why  Dr.  Ericsson 
suggested  my  coming  to  you.  I 
showed  it  to  him." 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand 


She  drew  a  letter  from  her  pocket 
and  handed  it  to  David.  He  was  sur- 
prised to  see  the  heading  of  the  "  Citi- 
zen "  on  the  sheet,  his  own  handwriting 
beneath  it.  It  was  written  to  a  man 
named  Robert  Heron,  and  directed  to 
a  small  Rhode  Island  town. 

"  You  know  Heron?  "  he  asked 
quickly. 

"  Yes.  You  like  his  work,  it 
seems." 

"  Very  much,"  he  said,  in  a  mystified 
voice.  "  I  don't  as  a  rule  seek  '  specials' 
outside,  but  his  were  so  trenchant,  so 
brilliantly  phrased,  so  exactly  what  we 
wanted,  I  couldn't  help,  you  see,  writ- 
ing to  ask  the  cause  of  his  long  silence. 
Most  of  his  work,  of  whatever  sort,  has 
commanded  attention  here.  Now,  there's 
a  man,"  said  David  enthusiastically  and 
in  the  final  tone  which  closes  an  argu- 
ment, "  I  sometimes  wish  had  the  am- 
bition and  spirit  of  the  woman  of  to-day. 
He's  wasting  his  time  in  a  small  place 
doing  desultory  work ;  a  dreamer,  I  dare 
say  an  idler  too.  We  need  men  like 


io  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

him  here.  I  wish  you'd  tell  him  so," 
he  smiled. 

Anne's  eyes  were  perversely  girlish 
as  she  said  simply: 

"  Pm  Robert  Heron,  Mr.  Temple." 


Chapter  II 

THE  advent  of  a  woman  in  the  edi- 
torial rooms  of  the  "  Citizen " 
was  no  longer  the  latest  topic  there. 
Anne  had  been  one  of  the  staff  for  a 
fortnight. 

She  had  come  with  a  reputation  al- 
ready made,  which  she  must  continue 
to  sustain.  Every  nerve  had  been 
strained  to  do  this,  and  she  had  suc- 
ceeded. All  other  impressions  had  been 
lost  sight  of  in  this  one  purpose.  The 
rush  and  pressure  of  life  around  her,  the 
strange  scenes  and  faces,  the  new  rou- 
tine, seemed  the  fabric  of  a  dream- 
world where  she  was  the  intensely  vital 
figure. 

Although  her  working  hours  were 
short,  the  continued  effort  and  oppres- 
sive heat  had  given  her  face  a  wan  touch. 
But  she  felt  no  fatigue.  On  the  con- 


12  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

trary  she  was  aware  of  the  satisfaction 
arising  from  fulfilment.  This  niche  in 
the  dusty,  metallic  world  where  a  great 
newspaper  was  made  was  the  only  thing 
she  had  craved.  To  prove  herself  worthy 
of  its  possession  was  the  single  aim  of 
her  life.  David  Temple  had  hesitated 
to  engage  her  because  she  was  a  woman. 
He  had  told  her  she  would  soon  weary. 
She  must  prove  his  prophecy  false. 
This  was  the  impetus  that  made  her 
bold.  The  result  was  gratifying. 

Matters  of  social  and  moral  impor- 
tance started  out  vividly  during  the  ter- 
rible summer  weather.  The  handling  of 
some  of  these  was  assigned  to  Anne.  It 
would  seem  that  David  Temple  had 
decided  to  take  her  cruelly  at  her  word 
and  treat  her  as  a  man,  or  as  if  he  had 
wished  to  force  an  evidence  of  affright 
or  weakness  from  her.  He  was  mis- 
taken. Anne  was  a  soldier's  daughter. 
Best  of  all,  she  was  confident  of  her 
right  to  be  there.  Robert  Heron  had 
never  done  better  work  than  came  from 
her  pen  during  that  fortnight. 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  13 

When  she  had  defended  her  position 
and  won,  there  came  a  lull,  and  with- 
out seeming  to  watch  she  absorbed  a 
knowledge  of  the  people  around  her  and 
noticed  what  events  and  colorings  go  to 
make  up  existence  in  a  newspaper  office. 

There  was  the  sentimental  reporter, 
who  furtively  read  and  re-read  feminine- 
looking  letters  and  sighed  over  stock 
reports;  the  silent  man  with  the  scarred 
face,  who  smoked  strong  cigars;  the 
society  editor,  whose  smile  was  as  well 
oiled  as  his  russet  boots;  the  baby-faced 
reporter,  who  betted  on  everything  and 
"  matched  "  on  the  smallest  provoca- 
tion; the  fretful  critic  with  the  perpet- 
ual cold  in  the  head,  who  banged  the 
door  as  if  to  insinuate  his  exit  was  final, 
and  who  always  returned  in  a  rush  for 
something  forgotten;  the  artist  loung- 
ing with  an  exalted  look  to  his  feet,  who 
drew  inspiration  from  Egyptian  cigar- 
ettes; Pete,  the  office  boy,  with  terrible 
worldly  knowledge  in  his  pale  eyes  and 
the  savoir  faire  of  a  veteran  clubman  in 
his  manner,  who  grew  confidential  with 


14  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

her  and  tried  to  interest  her  in  the  intri- 
cacies of  baseball;  and  David  Temple, 
the  editor-in-chief,  who,  unlike  many 
of  his  compeers,  worked  hard,  bringing 
with  him  an  assurance  of  well-bred  ease 
and  a  capability  for  exertion  and  endur- 
ance. 

Her  surroundings  were  so  strange 
that  Anne  often  wondered  if  it  were 
indeed  she  who  was  there,  the  lonely 
girl  who  in  the  well-stocked  library  of 
a  silent  country  house  had  written  most 
of  the  historical  and  descriptive  "  spe- 
cials" which  had  commanded  attention. 

While  the  clatter  of  the  presses  and 
the  unaccustomed  tread  of  life  were  in 
her  ears  she  would  close  her  eyes  and 
summon  a  vision  of  a  different  scene 
and  time:  A  hollow  at  the  foot  of  a  hill 
where  a  great  pool  lay,  and  willow 
branches  like  green  lengths  of  dishev- 
elled hair  trailed  in  the  water;  a  girl  — 
herself,  the  Anne  Garrick  who  was  dead 
never  to  rise  again  —  lying  at  full  length 
under  the  trees,  her  cheek  upon  an  open 
book,  the  fragrance  of  a  lost  land  around 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  15 

her,  the  whir  of  unseen  wings,  the  fire- 
flies in  the  blackness  under  the  cedars 
or  flashing  like  uneasy  eyes  from  the 
confusion  of  lush  grass,  the  sound  of 
water  pushing  its  way  through  twisted 
weeds  with  a  coquettish  whimper  like 
silk  rubbed  on  silk. 

Some  snatch  of  a  street  song,  the 
exciting  news  of  the  last  murder,  or 
the  clangor  of  Trinity's  bell  would 
frighten  these  imaginings,  and  despite 
her  pagan  love  of  nature  she  would 
return  to  work,  happy  that  the  last 
two  years  of  solitude  and  reverie  were 
over. 

David  talked  to  her  very  little  and 
never  about  anything  save  work.  She 
watched  him  and  found  him  curiously 
interesting.  Other  men  were  more  or 
less  of  a  familiar  type,  but  David  Tem- 
ple was  individual.  A  nascent  force 
marked  his  lightest  action.  To  be  near 
him  was  like  coming  within  the  radius 
of  a  powerful  electric  current. 

She  had  always  liked  clean-shaved 
men.  They  seemed  a  degree  farther 


16  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

from  the  idea  of  the  ancestral  monkey 
than  their  bewhiskered  brothers.  David 
was  clean-shaved,  spare  of  flesh,  strongly 
built.  There  was  unity  in  his  simple 
name,  stern  face,  searching  gray  eyes, 
and  the  practical  surroundings  in  which 
he  worked.  Back  of  his  desk  the  bound 
volumes  of  the  "  Citizen"  for  a  genera- 
tion were  sombrely  heaped.  Electric 
wires  and  buildings  of  granite  were 
visible  beyond  the  window  near  which 
he  sat.  The  man  and  his  mission  were 
melodic. 

Anne  was  slowly  drawing  on  her 
gloves  one  evening  when  the  reporter 
with  the  scarred  face  laid  down  his 
cigar  and  asked  a  question  of  nobody 
in  particular. 

"  Any  of  you  fellows  know  where 
Donald  Sefain  has  hidden  himself  this 
time?" 

The  name  attracted  her,  and  she 
found  herself  waiting  for  the  reply. 

"  Oh,  Lord,  it's  too  warm  to  think  of 
Sefain's  vagaries!  He's  probably  trying 
tenement-house  life  again  with  some  of 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  17 

his  slum  friends  while  a  penny  remains. 
When  he's  broke  he'll  come  back  and 
work  for  another  spurt,"  the  society 
editor  replied  with  fine  unconcern. 

"Fool!  Flinging  himself  away!  He 
won't  last  long." 

"  D'  you  know  what  I'd  do  if  I  were 
in  Temple's  place  and  had  such  a  pre- 
cious bundle  of  shiftlessness  and  surli- 
ness for  a  so-called  brother"  — 

"  H'm!  There  isn't  much  doubt 
about  what  you'd  do." 

"  Kick  him  out."  And  the  society 
editor  fingered  his  imperial  tenderly. 

"  I  think  he  hates  Temple  more 
every  day,"  said  Jack  Braidley,  the 
reporter  who  "  matched."  "  He's  an 
idea  he's  one  too  many  in  the  world, 
I  fancy." 

The  words  were  hardly  spoken  when 
the  door  opened  and  a  man  came  in. 
From  the  hush  greeting  his  entrance 
Anne  knew  it  was  Donald  Sefain. 
She  looked  at  him  attentively. 

There  were  unmistakable  marks  of 
vagabondism  about  him  —  his  dusty 


1 8  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

clothes,  churlish  manner,  long,  untidy 
hair.  He  was  of  moderate  height  and 
slender  build,  he  carried  his  shoulders 
poorly,  and  his  eyes  were  sunken.  But 
for  all  this  his  dark,  foreign  face,  sneer- 
ing, secretive,  defiant,  was  startlingly 
handsome  as  he  stood  in  the  red  wash 
tones  of  the  sunset  pouring  through 
the  dusty  windows. 

He  looked  at  Anne  with  some  sur- 
prise in  his  glance,  his  expression 
questioning;  then  he  became  indiffer- 
ent, nodded  curtly  to  the  men,  and  sat 
down  at  a  corner  desk.  From  his  atti- 
tude one  would  have  supposed  he  was 
sketching  or  writing.  As  she  passed 
him  to  the  door  she  saw  his  fingers 
were  motionless,  his  open  eyes  intro- 
spective. 

While  the  room  contained  a  dozen 
men,  it  was  evident  Donald  Sefain 
would  be  left  alone  with  his  musings. 
He  had  withdrawn  from  the  others  as 
if  from  habit.  Even  before  she  had 
passed  into  the  hall  they  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  his  existence. 


Chapter     III 

THREE  miles  lay  between  the  of- 
fices of  the  "  Citizen"  and  the 
trio  of  rooms  Anne  had  rented  and  fur- 
nished during  the  six  weeks  of  her  res- 
idence in  New  York.  They  were  in  a 
low  red-brick  house  separated  from 
the  street  by  a  patch  of  grass  and 
iron  palings.  The  neighborhood  had 
Washington  square  for  its  nucleus, 
the  only  part  of  the  money-making 
town  preserving  the  mossy  tone  of 
Knickerbocker  days,  where  occasional 
low  doorsteps  and  spindle-legged  ban- 
isters keep  the  costumes  and  manners 
of  the  century's  infancy  clear  in  the 
memory. 

Anne  loved  the  queer  street,  the  ven- 
erable church  opposite,  with  its  unfash- 
ionable parishioners  and  sweet-tongued 
bell,  the  amethyst  light  stealing  across 
19 


2O  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

the  landscape  of  roofs,  the  fret  of  trains 
flashing  past  in  aerial  passage  not  far 
off  and  leaving  a  plume  of  vapor  be- 
hind, the  passing  of  many  people  along 
the  pavements  reaching  into  smoky  per- 
spective. 

These  impressions  were  a  ripening 
contact,  helping  to  wake  her  to  newer 
perceptions  of  life,  making  her  realize 
that  she  stood  unsupported  in  a  crowded, 
struggling  place. 

She  had  the  exhilarating  sensations 
of  a  daring  and  capable  swimmer  who 
plunges  into  deep  water  where  only  his 
own  skill  can  keep  him  afloat. 

Her  eyes  were  shining,  her  color 
high,  as  she  hurried  up  the  narrow 
stairway  and  entered  the  sitting-room. 
An  old  man  was  standing  by  one  of 
the  windows  and  turned  expectantly 
as  she  came  in.  It  was  Dr.  Ericsson. 
He  looked  at  her  with  cool,  friendly 
scrutiny. 

"  Fve  been  waiting  for  you  again. 
There's  something  witching  about  you, 
Anne,"  he  said  helplessly.  "  You've 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  21 

quite  spoiled  me  for  solitude.  Every 
dinner  I  have  away  from  you  is  like 
sawdust." 

Anne  laid  her  arm  lightly  around  his 
shoulder.  She  was  a  little  the  taller. 
There  was  something  charmingly  auda- 
cious in  her  young  face  and  protecting 
attitude  contrasted  with  his  gray  hair 
and  sixty  odd  years.  She  had  the  im- 
petuosity and  assurance  of  a  fresh  run- 
ner who  fears  nothing  on  the  long, 
mysterious  race  just  begun.  He  had 
the  half-defeated  expression  of  one  ap- 
proaching with  lagging  steps  the  end, 
and  who  thinks  little  even  of  the  win- 
ning of  that  race  which  nevertheless 
must  be  run  in  one  fashion  or  another. 

u  I  never  knew  a  man  so  eager  for 
compliments,"  she  said,  her  lips  curl- 
ing in  playful  scorn.  "  Shall  I  fib,  and 
say  every  meal  is  lonely  without  you? 
Not  a  bit  of  it!  I  come  home  so  hungry, 
uncle  dear,  and  the  man  at  the  corner 
sends  in  such  good  chops!  I  put  on  a 
blouse  and  dream  over  my  coffee,  while 
Nora  in  the  kitchen  sings  Irish  melo- 


22  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

dies  in  an  adorable  voice  and  with  a 
creamlike  brogue." 

She  laid  her  finger  under  his  chin 
and  looked  into  his  eyes. 

"  But  when  you  do  come,  you  dear, 
cynical  creature,  I  shelve  dreams  gladly 
and  don't  care  a  pin  for  Nora's  songs. 
Satisfied?" 

She  hurried  away  to  change  her 
gown,  and  Dr.  Ericsson  was  left  alone 
in  the  dusk.  He  listened  in  a  dreamy 
way  to  the  maid  crossing  and  recrossing 
the  rug-covered  floor.  His  arms  hung 
by  his  sides,  his  eyes  were  fastened 
on  a  trail  of  smoke  diminishing  in  the 
sunset. 

Thirty  years  before,  then  a  young 
Swede  newly  arrived  in  America  for  a 
bout  with  fortune,  he  had  married  the 
sister  of  Anne's  mother.  They  had  set- 
tled in  New  York,  and  by  degrees  he 
became  successful  and  rich.  His  wife 
was  a  beauty,  his  children's  future 
bright,  and  life  went  well.  But  trouble 
came.  His  children,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  Olga,  the  youngest,  died  during 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  23 

school  days;  his  fortune,  entrusted  to  false 
friends,  went  to  help  their  speculations 
and  was  lost.  Now,  in  old  age,  he  was 
a  physician  of  reputation,  but  poor, 
possessing  a  fashionably  inclined  wife, 
whose  weekly  letters  from  Paris,  where 
she  had  elected  to  live  when  Olga's 
school  days  in  Switzerland  were  over, 
were  wearying  longings  for  the  vanished 
wealth.  His  daughter  was  almost  a 
stranger  to  him.  She  had  gone  away 
a  child:  she  was  now  a  woman  of 
twenty;  what  sort  of  a  woman,  evolved 
by  her  mother's  worldliness  and  a  false 
system  of  education,  he  hesitated  to 
consider.  His  life  was  spent  in  the 
depleted  family  mansion  on  Waverly 
place,  with  one  old  servant,  amid  furni- 
ture masked  in  gray  holland  and  por- 
traits of  his  lost  children  blinking 
through  gauze  sheetings.  Only  his 
patients  and  friends  had  prevented  him 
from  becoming  like  the  piano  in  the 
corner,  which  had  almost  forgotten  how 
to  vibrate. 

But  he  knew  what  a  home  might  be 


24  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

since  Anne  came  to  New  York.  He 
was  very  fond  of  her,  wholly  in  sym- 
pathy with  her.  His  gaze  wandered 
to  a  shadowy  pastel  on  the  wall  before 
him,  where  her  deep  eyes  were  touched 
by  the  sunset's  fire.  It  seemed  to  tell 
him  much.  Hers  had  been  a  stern, 
starved  girlhood  up  to  the  present  year. 
After  college  days  and  between  the 
ages  of  twenty  and  twenty-three  she 
had  been  chained  to  the  bedside  of  an 
invalid  father,  her  life  a  strain  when  it 
was  not  stagnation,  unused  energy  fret- 
ting her  heart,  what  should  have  been 
the  sunniest  period  of  her  life  drifting 
by  in  shadow. 

When  her  father  died,  she  had  found 
herself  wholly  orphaned  and  free  to 
plan  her  future  according  to  her  tastes. 
She  had  a  small  income,  a  thorough 
education,  and  the  talent  of  being  able 
to  write  with  splendor  and  force  of 
whatever  she  felt  deeply.  The  con- 
trolled yearnings  for  freedom  had  grown 
into  one  desire,  and  she  had  gratified  it. 
The  old  home  was  rented,  and  like  a 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  25 

young  David  entering  the  camp  of  the 
Philistines  she  had  come  to  New  York. 
Three  things  she  had  determined  on  — 
to  live  alone,  work,  fill  her  days  with 
impressions  of  life,  fling  away  books 
and  study  men  and  women. 

When  the  maid  appeared  with  can- 
dles Anne  followed  her,  a  bowl  of 
roses  in  her  hands.  The  newspaper 
woman  in  severe,  collared  gown  was 
gone,  and  in  her  place  was  an  ex- 
quisite creature  akin  to  the  flowers 
and  the  starry  lights.  Her  shoulders 
and  arms  gleamed  through  a  gauzy 
black  bodice.  A  modish  knot  showed 
the  fine  abundance  of  her  hair.  One 
rose  was  fastened  at  her  bosom,  where 
it  flamed  in  splendid  warmth. 

Dr.  Ericsson  looked  at  her  critically. 
She  was  more  than  pretty:  she  was 
imperfectly  lovely,  or,  rather,  beautiful 
without  fulfilling  conventional  canons. 
During  quiet  moments  her  face  was 
serene  and  alluring:  the  dark  hair  upon 
the  pale  brow  like  banded  velvet,  the 
liquid  brown  eyes  poetically  thought- 


26  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

ful,  the  mouth  appealing.  Softness, 
strength,  and  color  were  all  there.  But 
in  action  and  expression  lay  her  strong- 
est charm.  When  the  lips  smiled,  when 
the  eyes  lightened,  and  the  small,  deli- 
cate hands  as  restless  as  a  French- 
woman's emphasized  her  words,  Anne 
was  irresistible. 

"  I  am  going  to  give  you  a  summer 
dinner,"  she  said,  her  fingers  lingering 
among  the  roses. 

"  Nothing  but  roses  ?  " 

"  You'd  be  near  Nirvana  if  that  could 
satisfy  you.  Nora,  bring  the  soup,"  she 
added,  in  a  purposely  practical  tone,  as 
she  seated  herself. 

They  were  like  children  together. 
Anne  listened  attentively  as  she  led  the 
old  man  on  to  philosophize  of  life  as  he 
saw  it.  She  told  him  of  her  newspaper 
work,  its  newness,  its  delight;  of  the 
novel  she  had  commenced,  and  how 
sometimes  she  rose  at  dead  of  night  to 
make  a  note  of  an  idea  or  a  phrase;  of 
all  her  faiths,  dreams,  and  prejudices. 
To  him  she  was  piteously  youthful.  To 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  27 

her  he  was  old,  wise,  and  weary.  He 
had  settled  all  with  destiny.  She  was 
buckling  on  her  armor.  It  seemed  that 
the  heart  he  had  lost  throbbed  in  her 
bosom;  he  longed  that  the  impossible 
might  be  made  possible  and  she  might 
keep  it  forever  so  —  valiant,  free,  happy. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  David  Temple 
very  well  by  this  time?"  he  asked. 

"  You'd  be  surprised  if  you  knew  how 
seldom  he  has  spoken  to  me,"  she  said, 
resting  familiarly  on  her  elbow.  "  He 
sometimes  seems  a  marvellously  con- 
structed machine  instead  of  a  man.  He 
works  so  hard.  He  seems  able  to  at- 
tend to  twenty  things  at  once." 

"  Yes;  to  lead  is  in  his  blood." 

"  That's  it,"  she  nodded.  "  If  he'd 
been  born  in  a  forest  in  tribal  days 
they'd  have  made  him  chief.  Or  can't 
you  fancy  him  a  pirate,  or  a  stupendous 
criminal  with  a  horde  of  cringing  fol- 
lowers, or  a  cardinal  with  an  eye  to 
pierce  a  conscience  and  subjugate  a 
king,  or  a  general  like  Napoleon,  gaz- 
ing indifferently  over  the  fields  of  the 


28  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

dead?  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  in  an 
awed,  childish  way,  "  I  like  him?" 

"All  women  like  him,"  snapped  Dr. 
Ericsson. 

"Do  they?" 

"  It's  a  feminine  instinct  which  noth- 
ing can  kill,  to  like  the  man  who  domi- 
nates you  —  and  who  can  do  without 

you." 

"  Well,  go  on,"  she  said,  leaning 
closer. 

"  Women  and  their  affairs,"  said  Dr. 
Ericsson,  lighting  a  cigar,  "  engage  Da- 
vid Temple's  thoughts  very  little.  He 
is  not  intolerant,  he  is  simply  indiffer- 
ent, although  most  masculine  in  the 
gentleness  coming  from  a  consciousness 
of  his  own  strength.  It  seems  to  me 
as  if  a  woman  could  never  fill  his  many- 
sided  life.  There  are  men  born  with 
the  love  of  women  in  their  being,  and  it 
grows  with  their  growth.  To  possess 
it  too  strenuously  weakens  a  character 
and  often  perverts  what  should  be  a 
reverence  into  a  taste.  To  possess  it 
with  a  separateness  from  the  other  in- 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  29 

terests  of  life  suggests  the  lack  of  some 
vital,  spiritual  fibre.  I've  felt  this  with 
David.  If  he  ever  marries  it  will 
be  because  his  intellect  suggests  it  as 
wise,  or  because  his  physical  nature 
is  enslaved.  The  two  will  scarcely 
blend." 

"  Yes,  he  suggests  all  you  say.  By 
the  way,  tell  me  about  Donald  Sefain 
—  his  stepbrother." 

"  Oh,  have  you  seen  him?  " 

"  This  afternoon.  His  face  haunted 
me  all  the  way  home." 

"  I  see  you  have  Vaudel's  '  Desert 
Monk '  on  your  shelf.  You've  read 
it?  The  pictures  are  Donald  Sefain's. 
Fine,  aren't  they?  I  half  believe  he 
made  them  just  to  show  what  he  could 
do,  and  then  from  '  cussedness  '  flung 
down  his  pen.  He's  done  no  serious 
work  since." 

"  Do  tell  me  about  him,"  and  Anne, 
leaving  the  table,  wheeled  a  low  arm- 
chair to  Dr.  Ericsson's  knee. 

"  It's  a  bit  of  a  story.  Can  you 
reach  me  a  match?  Thank  you,  my 


30  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

dear.  This  is  very  cosey."  He  sat  back 
and  half  closed  his  eyes.  "  When 
David  Temple  was  about  fifteen  his 
father,  as  hard  and  stern  a  man  as 
ever  lived,  married  a  Frenchwoman, 
a  widow  with  a  boy  of  six.  Some 
people  know  and  a  great  many  sus- 
pect there  never  was  a  Mr.  Sefain,  and 
the  boy  Donald  was  as  surely  John 
Temple's  son  as  David,  for  whom 
he'd  have  cut  out  his  eyes,  he  loved 
him  so.  Well,  Mrs.  Sefain  was  a 
beautiful  woman,  an  adventuress  with 
the  manners  of  a  duchess.  I  never 
saw  her  in  a  brocade  dress  without 
thinking  how  well  she'd  look  on  one 
of  those  little  pompadour  fans,  all  cov- 
ered with  roses  and  things.  Donald  is 
the  picture  of  her.  I  think  his  eyes 
and  smile  —  the  latter  too  rare,  God 
help  him  !  —  would  glorify  a  plain  face 
into  beauty.  After  five  years  of  the 
most  absolutely  perfect  marital  misery 
Donald's  mother  died,  and  he  was  left 
in  old  John  Temple's  care.  It  was  a 
hard  fate." 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  31 

"  Why  ?     He  didn't  like  him  ?  " 

"Like  him?  He  hated  him  as  only 
an  intolerant,  conscientious  man  can 
hate.  Donald  was  a  constant  reproach 
to  him  and  a  reminder  of  his  married 
unhappiness.  He  never  let  David  be 
friends  with  him,  never.  You  see, 
Donald  hadn't  a  fair  chance.  He  was 
a  lonely  little  soul." 

"Why  didn't  he  set  his  teeth  and 
make  something  of  himself  ? "  said 
Anne,  with  the  defiance  of  a  champion. 

"  Ah,  that's  what  he  should  have 
done,  exactly!  But  he  didn't.  Instead, 
at  twenty,  after  leaving  John  Temple's 
house,  he  went  from  bad  to  worse.  His 
face  to-day  bears  scars  of  the  odds  against 
him.  He's  a  failure.  I  tried  to  get  near 
him,  but  he  wouldn't  let  me  be  his  friend. 
It  is  one  of  his  perversities  to  affect  the 
poor  and  mingle  with  the  unfortunate. 
Anything  prosperous  inspires  a  morbid 
dislike  in  him;  all  that's  deformed, 
shunned,  all  that  lies  in  shadow,  finds 
favor  in  his  sight.  He's  a  strange 
and  silent  creature,  drinking  feverishly, 


32  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

cultivating  his  worst  instincts,  finding 
an  unreasonable  satisfaction  in  offering 
himself  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  discontent 
instilled  into  him  through  the  circum- 
stances of  his  life." 

"  I  don't  understand  why  he's  on 
the  6  Citizen'  with  David  Temple." 

"  Oh,  he  simply  does  work  for  that  as 
well  as  a  few  other  papers !  He's  brim- 
ful of  talent.  David  employs  him  as  he 
would  a  stranger,  and  pays  him  for  what 
work  he  turns  in.  He's  seldom  in  the 
office." 

The  clock  struck  nine,  and  Dr.  Erics- 
son started  up. 

"Good  heavens!  And  a  sick  man  not 
a  mile  off  is  waiting  for  me! " 

He  got  into  his  coat,  kissed  her,  and 
hurried  away. 

She  carried  the  bowl  of  roses  from 
the  table  to  the  mantel  and  stood  for  a 
moment  with  her  hands  upon  them,  a 
look  of  disquietude  in  her  eyes.  She 
was  thinking  of  Donald  Sefain. 


Chapter  IV 

AFRESH,  bright  afternoon,  a  va- 
grant from  spring  coming  between 
stretches  of  torrid  heat. 

The  stone  hall  leading  from  the  edito- 
rial rooms  to  the  stairs  was  deserted  as 
David  Temple  stepped  from  his  office. 
He  could  hear  voices  and  laughter 
through  half-opened  doors,  the  din  from 
the  streets  and  shrieking  from  factory 
whistles  sounding  at  that  height  like 
the  deepening  howl  of  a  mob.  When 
he  turned  the  corner  he  saw  Anne  Gar- 
rick,  her  hand  upon  the  brass  scroll- 
work around  the  elevator.  She  looked 
tired  and  very  young. 

A  protest  leaped  into  David's  heart. 
He  had  sometimes  experienced  the 
same  feeling  for  a  city  child  contentedly 
threading  beads  in  the  gutter —  a  wish  to 
transplant  it  to  something  more  happy, 
33 


34  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

to  a  meadow  where  breeze,  sunlight, 
and  leafage  were  a  symphony.  At  the 
thought  a  grim  smile  twitched  his  lips. 
Miss  Garrick  was  weary  of  peace  and 
loved  the  treadmill  work  in  the  noisy 
world.  She  had  told  him  so. 

•"  Have  you  rung?  "  he  asked,  reach- 
ing her  side. 

"  Yes,  but  there's  some  delay  below," 
said  Anne,  peering  down. 

"  I'll  emphasize  the  fact  that  the  edi- 
tor and  one  of  the  best  writers  on 
the  '  Citizen '  are  waiting."  A  flash 
of  humor  came  into  his  eyes,  and  he 
kept  his  finger  upon  the  bell  until  its 
vibrations  awoke  echoes  in  the  shaft. 
It  was  no  use,  and  David  looked  dis- 
tressed. 

"  We'll  have  to  take  to  the  stairs. 
Give  me  your  parasol  and  let's  make  the 
best  of  it.  You  can  rest  by  the  way." 

They  went  side  by  side  down  the 
seemingly  never-ending  iron  stairway. 

"  Are  you  tired  ? "  he  asked  when 
the  second  landing  had  been  reached. 
"  Wait  a  minute." 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  35 

David  took  off  his  hat  and  stood  fac- 
ing her.  They  were  in  deep  shadow, 
the  sounds  of  life  above,  below,  skim- 
ming around  without  touching  their 
isolation. 

"  Miss  Garrick,  I've  wanted  to  say 
something  to  you  for  several  days,"  he 
said,  smiling.  "  I  want  to  take  back 
what  I  said  about  women  being  unfit 
for  newspaper  work.  You  have  done 
splendidly  and  against  great  odds." 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so?"  And  the 
color  came  into  Anne's  cheeks.  "I  did 
find  the  work  hard,  and  it's  been  so 
hot."  Her  glance  became  a  little  chal- 
lenging. "  And  do  you  think  a  woman 
may  still  be  feminine,  even  if  she  is  not 
an  exotic  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  like  the  exotic  woman !  "  said 
David  as  they  went  on.  "  I  like  a 
woman  sublimely  useless,  providing 
she's  a  lot  of  other  things.  You  have 
proved  your  right  to  the  career  you've 
chosen,  but  you're  one  of  a  paralyzing 
minority.  Why  don't  you  acknowledge 
it?" 


36  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

His  tone  was  intentionally  provok- 
ing, and  Anne  laughed,  her  glance  a 
negative. 

As  they  stepped  from  the  shadow  into 
the  light  of  the  lower  hall  the  glare 
through  the  archway  of  the  door  dazzled 
them. 

"  It's  a  lovely  day,"  said  David.  "  The 
atmosphere  is  amazingly  clear."  They 
paused  for  a  moment  on  the  doorstep 
and  looked  at  the  picture  of  the  city. 
"  Every  detail,"  he  added,  "  shows  with 
the  accuracy  of  a  photograph  —  the  blue 
in  the  shirts  of  those  laborers,  the 
brown  of  the  trench,  the  violet-green 
of  that  bit  of  grass,  the  flags  in  the  blue 
air.  Are  you  going  to  walk  ?  "  he  asked 
abruptly. 

"  Yes ;  there's  such  a  good  breeze." 

"  If  you've  no  objection,  I'll  walk 
with  you." 

A  pulse  of  exultation  quickened  in 
Anne's  heart  as  they  went  up  the 
swarming  street,  David  adapting  his 
steps  to  hers. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said  curiously,  "  what 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  37 

Dr.  Ericsson  thinks  of  your  independent 
spirit." 

"  He  takes  it  entirely  for  granted." 

"  I  am  behind  the  times,  I  suppose," 
he  said,  with  a  short  laugh.  "  Well, 
I  can't  help  it.  I  don't  like  the  inde- 
pendent woman.  Oh,  she  has  virtues! 
But  when  woman  loses  her  incon- 
sistency and  self-doubt  she  loses  her 
charm. 

"  She  needn't.  If  she's  in  earnest  and 
loves  it,  why  shouldn't  she  work  and 
live  alone  as  I  do  "  — 

"  But  you  live  with  your  uncle,  don't 
you  ?  " 

"  No.  I  am  much  more  comfortable 
as  I  am.  I  came  here  sure  of  a  small 
income.  I  earn  that  sum  twice  over 
now,  I  live  alone,  and  I'm  writing  a 
book." 

"Really!" 

They  continued  in  silence,  and  then 
David  looked  at  her  squarely. 

"  I  am  thinking  what  an  amazing 
gulf  lies  between  you  and  your  great- 
grandmother.  Wouldn't  she  scold  you 


38  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

if  she  could  come  back  ?  Wouldn't  she, 
though?" 

"I  dare  say,"  said  Anne  placidly; 
"  but  I  wouldn't  approve  of  my  great- 
grandmother,  nor  of  my  grandmother 
either." 

David  threw  back  his  head  as  a  boy 
does  before  a  shout  of  laughter,  cor- 
rected himself,  and  looked  at  her  with 
weighty  seriousness. 

"  Really,  impertinence  couldn't  go 
farther." 

Anne's  smile  was  both  naive  and 
speculative  as  she  continued: 

"  My  grandmothers  had  no  spirit,  no 
originality,  went  in  for  artistic  fainting 
and  wrote  silly  love-rhymes.  They  were 
as  savorless  as  oatmeal  without  salt, 
those  admirable,  chimney-corner  wom- 
en. Their  husbands  thought  nothing 
of  crying  i  Tush '  at  them,  and  they 
'tushed  '  beautifully.  Oh,  they  wouldn't 
be  at  all  popular  to-day." 

"  But  you  are  not  a  r  new  '  woman  ?  " 
said  David,  with  some  awe. 

"  No,"  and  the  denial  was  uncompro- 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  39 

mising.  "  I  hate  the  ?  new '  woman. 
You  have  not  classified  me  correctly. 
I  hope  I  am  the  awakened  woman." 

u  I  never  heard  of  her  before." 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  something  about 
her.  Without  retaining  the  womanli- 
ness of  the  clinging  heroine  of  the  past, 
and  without  feeling  to  a  sensible  extent 
a  desire  for  progress,  she  could  not  ex- 
ist. She  is  the  result  of  extremes  past 
and  present." 

"Many  of  her?" 

"  She's  everywhere.  Her  privileges 
are  so  many  she's  busy  enjoying  them. 
There's  little  said  about  her,  but  every 
one  who  thinks  knows  she  is  the  woman 
of  to-day." 

Her  earnestness  made  her  face 
strangely  lovely,  and  the  thought 
prompted  David's  next  words. 

"  Does  she  like  to  be  pretty?  " 

"  She  delights  in  it.  She's  not  merely 
a  good  chum  with  men,  nor  is  she  a 
plaything  nor  an  intellectual  machine; 
she's  a  woman,"  she  said,  and  there  was 
music  in  the  word.  "  She  believes  that 


40  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

marrying  the  man  she  loves  —  and  she 
can't  love  the  weak,  the  stupid,  the 
hopelessly  corrupt — is  the  culmination 
of  the  purpose  for  which  she  was 
created.  She's  not  ignorant  of  the 
existence  of  evil,  but  it  has  not  tempted 
or  hardened  her.  But,  best  of  all,  she's 
not  a  paragon.  Her  aspirations  are 
high  and  good,  her  faults  alluring. 
Now  you  know  my  ideal." 

By  the  time  her  home  was  reached 
they  were  very  well  acquainted.  Anne 
felt  herself  come  very  near  the  gentlest 
side  of  David's  nature  as  she  gave  him 
her  hand.  He  clasped  it  earnestly  as 
he  looked  into  her  untroubled  eyes. 

"  New  York  is  dead  in  summer  time," 
he  said  irrelevantly.  "  All  one's  friends 
away !  So  few  people  one  cares  to  talk 
to,  anyway!" 

An  unreasoning  sense  of  gladness 
filled  Anne.  She  knew  he  was  waiting 
for  her  to  speak. 

"  Dr.  Ericsson  spends  many  of  his 
evenings  here.  When  you  feel  inclined, 
come  in  too." 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  41 

"  I  will,"  he  said  gratefully. 

And  he  did.  Often  after  busy  days 
during  which  scarcely  a  word  was 
exchanged  between  them  he  would 
find  himself  strolling  through  the  sul- 
try night  to  the  grateful  coolness  of 
Anne's  rooms.  Dr.  Ericsson  was  gen- 
erally there,  but  sometimes  they  were 
alone. 

The  unusualness  of  unhampered 
comradeship  with  a  bright,  young, 
and  pretty  woman,  their  long,  satis- 
fying talks  on  subjects  whimsically 
varied,  the  independence  of  Anne's 
solitude,  her  courageous  position  as  a 
worker,  level  with  his  own  as  a  man, 
appealed  to  David  with  a  charm  new 
in  his  experience. 

As  he  grew  more  and  more  inter- 
ested his  visits  increased.  They  be- 
came good  friends.  Sometimes  while 
the  moon  looked  over  the  roof-tops  and 
the  candles  flamed  in  the  night  breeze 
Anne  sang  to  him.  Sometimes  Dr. 
Ericsson  and  she  dined  with  him, 
mostly  in  cool,  suburban  places,  re- 


42  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

quiring  long  drives  along  the  almost 
empty  avenues  and  through  the  massed 
shadows  of  the  park.  Sometimes  on 
David's  roof-top,  made  comfortable 
with  rugs  and  hammocks,  they  three 
saw  the  day  die  and  the  stars  gather 
like  eyes  to  watch  the  clashing  ways 
of  life.  Every  day  his  fondness  for 
her  deepened.  She  was  his  comrade 
and  friend.  He  felt  himself  her  silent 
champion  and  protector. 


Chapter  V 

you  think  Temple  will  get 
here  to-night  before  the  paper's 
out?"  And  the  news  editor  nervously 
rolled  and  unrolled  the  copy  he  held. 

"  When  he  says  he'll  do  a  thing,  he 
does  it,"  said  Frawley,  the  managing 
editor,  who  was  covering  the  pages  be- 
fore him  with  blue  lines  from  his  flash- 
ing pencil  until  they  looked  like  maps 
of  a  railroad  that  followed  an  incon- 
sequent course  and  met  in  a  labyrinth. 

Anne  looked  at  the  clock.  It  was 
after  ten.  The  pencil  dropped  from 
her  fingers  and  she  pulled  the  shade 
from  above  her  tired  eyes.  Since 
seven  she  had  been  writing  in  a  race 
against  time,  and  now,  her  work  com- 
pleted, she  was  tingling  with  fatigue. 

It  was  the  first  of  November.  The 
summer,  unlike  any  other  of  her  life, 

43 


44  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

seemed  far  away.  Made  up  of  dusty, 
feverish  days  and  happy  nights,  it  was 
past,  like  a  sleep.  Through  the  win- 
dow before  her  she  could  see  the  fog 
dripping  over  the  city,  a  curtain  of 
sootiness,  its  folds  breaking  on  the 
angles  of  houses,  the  lights  of  the 
town  white  splashes  on  the  haze. 
The  world  looked  sullen,  as  if  choked 
under  that  sooty  pall  into  submission 
and  silence.  And  yet  none  knew  bet- 
ter than  she,  sitting  aloft  among  the 
chroniclers,  of  the  snarl  among  the  un- 
happy, of  the  turmoil  and  crime  seeth- 
ing there,  and  the  ambition  which 
spared  no  brother  for  the  uprising  of 
self. 

It  had  been  a  day  of  extraordinary 
climaxes.  A  murder  in  high  places 
had  horrified  the  city.  The  political 
struggle  was  hurrying  to  a  crisis. 
The  latest  telegrams  told  of  disas- 
trous floods  in  one  State,  and  a  strike 
of  many  thousand  miners  in  another. 

As  a  result  there  were  to-night  more 
striking  of  bells  and  the  dragging  sound 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  45 

of  hurrying  feet  than  were  usual  even 
during  the  exciting  hours  just  previous 
to  the  paper  going  to  press.  There 
was  expectancy  on  the  absorbed  faces. 
Unrest  hung  in  the  air  like  a  storm- 
cloud. 

After  a  week's  absence  David  Tem- 
ple was  momentarily  expected.  He 
had  wired  to  suspend  any  arrange- 
ments regarding  the  assignment  of 
reporters  to  the  scene  of  the  strikes 
until  his  arrival.  While  the  usual 
routine  of  making  the  paper  went  on 
the  men  were  waiting  for  him. 

Anne  was  waiting  for  him  too.  A 
trembling  anticipation  swept  over  her 
as  she  fancied  him  coming  through  the 
open  door.  He  would  bring  restful- 
ness  into  the  confusion,  a  visible  power 
to  the  handling  of  the  several  prob- 
lems, and  it  would  be  good  to  see  him 
again. 

"  He  ought  to  be  here  now,"  said 
Jack  Braidley,  strolling  over  to  her 
desk.  "  I  hope  he'll  let  me  out  of 
Platt's  Peak.  I  don't  want  that  assign- 


46  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

ment.  Starving  miners  are  not  much 
in  my  line." 

"  I  thought  not,"  said  Anne  dryly, 
gathering  together  the  copy  headed 
"  The  Sunday  Page,"  which  during  the 
present  stress  she  edited.  "  I  never  saw 
you  look  as  happy  as  the  day  you  were 
sent  out  to  inspect  and  describe  the 
Duke  of  Stockbury's  wedding  clothes 
when  he  came  over  to  marry  the  sugar 
refiner's  daughter.  They  were  in  your 
line." 

"  Oh,  I  say,  you  do  chaff  a  fellow 
horribly!  But  seriously,  I'm  playing 
for  the  dramatic  critic's  place.  Jove! 
Fancy  calling  that  work  —  every  pretty 
actress  smiling  at  you  pleadingly!  I 
was  made  for  it.  By  the  way,  Miss 
Garrick,  why  don't  you  go  on  the  stage  ? 
Beastly  work  this,  for  a  pretty  girl ! " 

Anne  was  not  listening  to  him.  Lean- 
ing her  elbow  on  the  back  of  the  chair, 
her  hand  curved  like  a  cup  to  support 
her  chin,  she  was  looking  at  Donald 
Sefain,  who  had  just  come  in. 

There  he  was,  shabby,  silent,  a  recluse 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  47 

among  the  alert  crowd.  The  discon- 
tent in  his  worn  eyes,  his  hopeless  but 
unconquered  air,  seemed  now  as  always 
like  a  sad,  passionate  phrase  woven 
unfittingly  into  the  flourishes  of  a  hack- 
neyed tune. 

She  wondered  if  she  would  ever 
know  him,  ever  learn  just  what  sinu- 
osities of  character,  what  experiences, 
had  made  him  the  creature  he  was. 
This  wish  had  begun  to  tinge  her  days. 
Nothing,  however,  seemed  more  un- 
likely. They  had  not  exchanged  a 
word.  He  held  aloof  from  her  as  from 
every  one  else. 

"  Look  at  that  beast  Sefain,"  mut- 
tered Braidley. 

"  Why  do  you  call  him  that?  "  And 
Anne  turned  sharply  upon  him. 

"  Look  at  his  clothes." 

"  They're  not  like  the  Duke  of  Stock- 
bury's,  are  they  ?  " 

"Besides,  he  drinks.  I  saw  him  drunk 
once  in  this  very  room.  It  was  last 
spring,  I  think.  His  eyes  were  fright- 
ful that  day.  I  expected  to  have  a  good 


48  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

story  about  his  suicide  next  morning. 
But  fellows  like  him  never  kill  them- 
selves." 

Anne  moved  away  and  stood  near 
Frawley's  desk,  just  as  Donald  went  up 
to  him. 

"  I  want  to  do  the  pictures  for  the 
Platt's  Peak  strike,"  she  heard  him  say, 
in  his  surly,  indifferent  tone. 

"Mr.  Temple  attends  to  that,"  said 
Frawley,  strolling  over  to  watch  the 
telegrams  coming  in  like  mad. 

"  But  I  can't  wait  to  see  him  unless 
he  comes  within  five  minutes.  I  wish 
you'd  tell  him  I'd  like  to  go  to  Platt's 
Peak.  I  don't  suppose  there'll  be  a 
rush  for  the  place,  anyway." 

"  Damned  fussy  about  his  minutes, 
for  a  beggar,"  thought  Frawley,  but 
answered  in  a  colorless  voice,  "  All 
right." 

Donald  slouched  over  to  his  desk 
and  picked  up  his  hat.  He  had  neared 
the  door  when  Frawley,  peering  over 
the  operator's  shoulder  at  the  wire, 
uttered  a  cry. 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  49 

"  Good  God  !  " 

Consternation  and  suspense  fell  upon 
the  place.  It  was  as  if  a  full  heart  had 
suddenly  ceased  beating.  In  the  still- 
ness the  shrill  warnings  of  fog  whistles 
from  the  bay  were  eerie,  as  if  witches 
shrieked  at  the  windows.  Donald 
paused  at  the  door.  Anne  stood  like 
a  stone. 

"  Hear  this.  Temple "  —  And 
Frawley  sank  back  into  a  seat,  un- 
able to  obey  his  impulse  to  speak. 

"  What,  for  heaven's  sake  ?  "  And 
one  of  the  men  waiting  seized  the 
tape  from  the  operator's  ringers. 

"  Southern  express  wrecked  south 
of  Philadelphia.  Many  dead.  David 
Temple  fatally  injured." 

There  was  much  more.  Details  fol- 
lowed, speculation,  exclamations  of 
dismay  and  pity;  but  Anne  heard  only 
those  last  four  words.  They  had  de- 
scended like  a  sword,  striking  strength 
and  motion  from  her  body  and  all  but 
one  thought  from  her  mind.  She  stood 
with  pale  lips,  a  shadow  weighing  upon 


50  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

her  eyes.  She  shivered  as  if  in  the 
clammy  dusk  of  death.  There  was  a 
blur,  a  grotesque  mixing  of  faces  and 
objects,  a  sense  as  of  being  seized  by 
a  horrible,  separating  current  and  torn 
away  from  all  things  to  which  she 
could  cling,  a  sense  of  crushing  loss. 

She  sat  down  before  her  desk,  facing 
the  black  window  where  the  city  lights 
flickered.  The  horror  faded  into  a  pas- 
sionate cry  which,  though  unuttered, 
shook  her  whole  being.  David  among 
the  injured !  David  far  away,  not  strong 
and  controlling,  but  lying  in  voiceless 
pain  under  the  sullen  sky!  They  said, 
"  Injured  fatally."  Perhaps  it  meant 
dying,  perhaps  it  meant  dead.  Dead! 
The  word  seemed  to  take  her  by  the 
throat,  hold  her,  look  into  her  eyes, 
deep  into  her  heart,  and  laugh  at  what 
it  saw  there. 

Nothing  in  the  past  mattered  beside 
the  rich  truth  that  David  had  been  her 
friend,  nothing  in  the  future  beside  the 
craving  to  touch  him  and  hear  him 
speak  her  name  once  more.  She  knew 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  51 

in  a  revealing  blaze  the  secret  of  her 
heart  that  before  she  had  not  even 
dimly  understood. 

Unconsciously  she  prayed  as  she  sat 
there  staring  into  the  vacuity  of  the 
window. 

"  Save  him!  I  love  him,  I  love  him, 
I  love  him!" 


Chapter  VI 

DEAR  MISS  GARRICK :  Your  breezy  let- 
ter  came  like  a  voice  from  the  outside 
world  into  the  solitude  of  my  sick-room.  I  am 
much  better.  In  a  week  or  two  I'll  be  myself 
again.  The  consequences  of  the  accident  are  a 
treacherously  dizzy  brain,  a  bandaged  shoulder  and 
head,  and  a  great  weariness  of  everything  under 
the  sun.  Your  request  stupefies  me.  I  never 
heard  of  such  reckless  courage.  Fancy  you  out 
among  the  miners  in  these  times  of  bloodshed  ! 
Do  you  know  what  it  means  ?  I  can  imagine  what 
you  will  say.  You  are  a  student  of  life,  and  a  read- 
ing of  selected  passages  will  not  content  you. 
However,  we  won't  tear  this  subject  to  shreds 
again. 

Of  course  you  know  that  from  a  mercantile 
standpoint  your  report  of  the  strike,  your  descrip- 
tion of  the  life  of  the  women  in  that  hopeless  place, 
would  be  most  valuable  to  the  paper,  and,  if  you 
still  wish  to  go,  please,  for  friendship's  sake,  ask 
Dr.  Ericsson  to  go  with  you.  I  will  write  to  him 
too.  About  the  stories.  Don't  go  into  the  intri- 
cacies of  the  strike.  Tell  the  women's  story  in  a 
52 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  53 

woman's  way.  I'll  feature  them  in  the  half  weekly 
and  Sunday  editions.  Sefain,  whom  you  have  seen 
in  the  office,  is  there  now.  I'll  instruct  him  to 
illustrate  your  stories,  and,  as  he  does  excellent 
work  too,  they  ought  to  make  a  hit.  The  relief 
fund  which  has  been  started  will  be  forwarded  to 
you  for  distribution.  After  all  these  instructions  I 
urgently  add  —  don't  go. 

Faithfully, 

DAVID  TEMPLE. 

This  letter  was  held  closely  in  Anne's 
hand,  hidden  under  the  folds  of  her 
travelling  cloak,  as  the  train  carried  her 
over  the  hills  of  Pennsylvania.  Dr. 
Ericsson  had  closed  his  eyes  upon  the 
gloominess  of  his  surroundings  and 
fallen  asleep  upon  the  opposite  seat. 
She  was  free  to  think  uninterruptedly, 
her  eyes  upon  the  long  lines  of  win- 
dows curtained  with  mist  and  irisated 
with  raindrops,  the  reaches  of  land 
patched  with  melting  snow,  the  smoke 
from  infrequent  cottages  struggling  in  the 
dampness  and  vanishing  groundward  as 
if  affrighted. 

Ten  commonplace  days    and   nights 


54  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

had  passed  since  sudden  grief  like  a 
flame  had  illumined  her  heart  and  set 
before  her  eyes  its  hopeless,  passionate 
burden. 

Since  then  she  had  been  unquiet,  the 
happiness  of  knowing  David's  injury 
would  not  be  serious  mixed  with  a 
curious  disinclination  to  see  him  again, 
and  a  sense  of  defeat.  It  appeared 
irritating  that  this  love  should  have 
unexpectedly  awakened  within  her 
when  she  had  thought  herself  proud 
and  strong.  It  seemed  as  if  her  senses 
had  lightly  succumbed  to  the  potency 
of  environment,  as  if  passion  were  a 
mere  impulse,  and  the  man  treading 
the  same  path  with  her  a  man  to  love, 
not  the  man  her  soul  had  irresistibly 
sought  and  found. 

And  yet  something  within  her,  after 
all  reasoning,  insisted  on  being  heard. 
It  had  an  ecstatic  voice  and  gave  its 
own  golden  meaning  to  the  dark  day. 
She  seemed  drawn  to  David  by  a 
warm,  strong  hand,  and  the  delight  of 
yielding  sent  a  feeling  of  sublime 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  55 

-weakness  over  her  as  comes  to  one 
wearied  who  slips  the  will  and  sinks 
to  sleep.  It  was  a  happy  fancy  and 
hid  the  meagre  land  under  the  hurry- 
ing twilight  from  her  sight. 

Dr.  Ericsson  gave  his  body  a  chilly 
shake  and  roused  himself,  opening  one 
eye  querulously  and  then  the  other. 

"  You'll  regret  taking  me  as  a  travel- 
ling companion,  my  dear.  How  long 
have  I  been  asleep  ?  " 

"  For  hours.  We'll  get  to  Platt's 
Peak  in  time  for  dinner." 

Anne  cleared  away  a  spot  on  the 
glass  with  her  finger  and  gazed  at  the 
blankness  beyond.  "  You'll  be  hungry, 
poor  dear,  won't  you?  " 

"Dinner?  Be  thankful  if  we  get 
doughnuts,  and  cabbage  or  pork,  and 
fried  bread.  I  know  these  places,"  he 
grunted.  "  You  don't  know  what  you've 
run  into,  young  lady.  I  warned  you.  I 
might  have  saved  my  breath." 

"  Fancy  being  able  from  actual  expe- 
rience to  describe  the  pangs  of  hunger," 
said  Anne,  with  a  laugh. 


56  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

"  Don't  madden  me.  I've  arrived  at 
the  age  when  I  respect  a  good  dinner 
as  much  as  anything  on  earth.  As  the 
irreproachable  bourgeois  said  at  the 
pantomime  when  the  ballet  appeared, 
'  I  wish  I  hadn't  came.'" 

"  You're  in  a  vile  humor  to-day," 
said  Anne  placidly.  "  I'm  not." 

"  Of  course  you're  not;  you're  a 
woman.  You've  had  your  way  and 
you've  made  some  one  miserable,  so 
there  you  are,"  he  jerked  out,  a  smile 
in  his  eyes.  "  But  truly,"  he  added,  in  a 
different  tone,  "  I  had  a  letter  from  your 
aunt  this  morning  which  annoyed  me 
very  much.  They'll  be  back  sometime 
in  January." 

"  But  you'll  surely  be  glad  to  see 
them?" 

"  Oh,  fundamentally  of  course !  But 
there's  the  house  to  be  renovated  —  not 
good  enough  as  it  is.  And  I  am  made 
distinctly  aware  that  Olga  is  to  be 
brought  here  on  a  husband-hunting 
skirmish.  Foreigners  evidently  have 
been  given  up  as  hopeless.  My  beau- 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  57 

tiful  daughter  has  no  money,  you  see." 

He  clasped  his  hands  and  looked 
belligerent. 

"  Do  you  remember  Olga  at  all  ?  I 
took  her  down  to  your  father's  a  few 
times  when  she  was  a  little  thing." 

"  I  remember  her  very  distinctly," 
and  Anne  laughed.  "  She  scratched 
my  face  once.  We  quarrelled  all  the 
time.  I  remember  that  a  little  guinea- 
hen  of  mine  died,  and  I  buried  it  with 
proper  religious  pomp,  singing  over  it 
i  Sister,  thou  wast  mild  and  lovely.' 
But  Olga  wouldn't  have  this  at  all  and 
interrupted  the  services  with  shrieks 
and  dances.  We  parted  the  frankest 
of  enemies.  It  will  be  curious  to  see 
her  again.  Do  you  know  she  wasn't 
at  all  pretty  then  ?  " 

"  To-day  she  is  a  professional  beauty 
with  no  other  ambition  than  to  make  a 
good  match.  It  will  be  strange  to  have 
them  back.  But  you  won't  desert  me 
then,  Anne?"  And  he  looked  wistful. 

"  I  have  Mrs.  Micawber's  staying 
qualities,  you'll  see,"  she  said  gayly. 


58  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

It  was  dark  now.  Beyond  the  win- 
dows lay  a  tempestuous  blackness 
crossed  at  times  by  the  red  and  green 
of  railroad  lights. 

Anne  sat  back  and  closed  her  eyes. 
There  was  work  before  her,  and  she 
meant  to  do  it  well.  Besides  the  stub- 
born law  she  had  always  followed  of 
putting  the  best  of  herself  into  her  work, 
there  was  now  a  determination  to  be- 
come a  name  in  the  world  of  journal- 
ism, and  all  for  a  reason  that  made  her 
a  little  ashamed,  —  the  milliner  who 
hummed  a  ballad  while  she  twisted  a 
ribbon  for  a  hat,  the  dairymaid  who 
eyed  her  rows  of  glistening  pans  with 
a  critical  eye  while  listening  for  a  foot- 
step, shared  this  ambition  with  her,  — 
simply  the  longing  to  appear  well  in 
one  man's  eyes  and  be  loved  by  him. 

The  rain  was  beating  in  a  drumming 
downpour  on  the  roof  of  the  car  when 
the  brakeman  swung  in,  a  red  lantern 
in  his  hand.  As  he  stood  in  the  door- 
way, the  spray  driving  against  his 
crouched  shoulders,  the  bloody  blotch 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  59 

of  light  against  his  rain-soaked  clothes, 
he  seemed  a  figure  of  doom,  as  if  the 
misery,  cold  and  death  rampant  there 
had  taken  human  form  and  entered, 
crying  in  hoarse  accents: 

"Platt's  Peak  Colliery!" 

Anne's  dreaming  fell  from  her  like  a 
cloak  shrugged  from  uneasy  shoulders 
and  she  sprang  up,  her  face  bright  with 
sudden  energy. 

On  Dr.  Ericsson's  arm  she  plunged 
through  the  black  night  to  the  railway 
station.  This  was  little  more  than  a 
shed  over  a  flooring  and  supported  by 
begrimed  posts.  It  was  dark  save  for 
the  yellow  rays  from  a  small  window 
opening  into  a  box-like  house  where  two 
telegraph  operators  sat,  the  beat  of  the 
machines  stealing  out  to  the  shadow 
like  the  clucking  of  a  tongue. 

A  man  stood  looking  in.  When  he 
swung  around,  Anne  found  herself  face 
to  face  with  Donald  Sefain.  They  had 
seen  each  other  constantly  without  rec- 
ognition and  without  exchanging  a 
word.  The  meeting  there  under  the 


60  A  Circle  in  the  Sand. 

circumstances  was  a  trifle  perplexing. 
Donald's  expression  was  almost  forbid- 
ding as  he  awkwardly  pulled  off  his 
cap. 

"  Miss  Garrick,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  How  are  you,  Donald  ?  "  cried  Dr. 
Ericsson,  stepping  into  the  light.  "  I 
haven't  seen  you  for  an  age."  And  he 
seized  him  by  the  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  Pm  all  right! "  he  said  indiffer- 
ently. "  You'll  have  to  walk  to  the 
hotel.  The  cab  service  is  very  defi- 
cient here.  We've  all  got  to  live  like 
paupers  whether  we  like  it  or  not." 

He  hurried  ahead,  the  effort  of  being 
conventionally  polite  evidently  a  new 
role. 

"  I'll  show  you  the  way,"  he  said 
brusquely. 

"  I  say,  Donald," —  and  Dr.  Ericsson's 
tone  was  just  as  genial  as  when  he  had 
first  spoken,  —  "  are  things  very  bad?" 

Donald's  stormy  eyes  flashed  from 
beneath  the  rim  of  his  cap.  His  tone 
was  almost  insolent. 

"  Hell  is  loose  here,"  he  said. 


Chapter  VII 

IT  was  a  dark  morning  and  Dr. 
Ericsson's  mood  matched  it.  He 
had  rheumatism.  It  had  rained  for 
three  days,  was  still  raining,  and  they 
had  again  given  him  fried  bread  for 
breakfast. 

"  Thank  God,  sunshine  and  laughter 
are  in  the  world  somewhere!  It  is  well 
to  remember  that  here,"  he  said,  pok- 
ing the  fire  furiously. 

Anne  stood  near  him,  drawing  on  a 
pair  of  loose  dogskin  gloves.  A  fur  cap 
fitted  like  a  bandage  above  her  troubled 
eyes. 

"Tuck  me  in,  Anne  dear.  Then 
look  out,  like  a  good  girl,  and  see  if 
there's  a  break  in  the  dirty  sky." 

She  swept  the  rag  of  curtain  aside 
and  gazed  on  the  marvels  of  desolation 
before  her.  The  hotel  was  on  one  of 

61 


62  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

the  highest  hills,  and  she  could  see 
mountains  of  coal  waste  looming  black 
in  the  mist;  rivers  like  ink  flowing 
beneath  gaunt  bridges;  vast  hollows  of 
moist,  shrunken  land  above  the  mines 
spreading  like  emptied  arteries  beneath 
the  surface;  houses,  as  if  shaken  by 
palsy,  leaning  sideways  upon  erratic 
foundations;  and  over  all  a  light  rain 
driven  by  a  wind  from  the  east. 

"  The  sky  is  as  dull  as  ever,"  said 
Anne,  still  standing  with  the  curtain 
in  her  hand,  and  she  added  in  a  vehe- 
ment whisper:  "  It's  all  wrong,  uncle. 
There's  something  horribly  wrong  with 
the  world." 

"  Have  you  just  found  that  out?  " 
"  Last  night  as  we  came  home  from 
the  funeral  of  the  man  '  Red '  Evans 
killed  "  —  her  voice  trembled  —  "  it 
came  to  me  what  these  people  are. 
They  are  the  moving,  untombed 
dead.  The  starving  men  guarding  the 
black  pits,  the  women,  nothing  but 
child-bearing  blocks,  the  picker  boys 
with  their  undersized,  ghastly  bodies, 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  63 

have  dead  souls,  uncle,  —  quite,  quite 
dead." 

"  Don't  look  so  tragic,  my  dear.  One 
comfort — they  don't  know  how  really 
badly  off  they  are;  brought  up  to  it, 
you  see." 

"  I  know  it,"  —  the  curtain  slipped 
from  Anne's  fingers,  —  "  but  that's  what 
makes  me  fairly  sick  when  I  think  of  it 
—  their  apathy,  their  stolid  acceptance 
of  all.  They  don't  crave  anything  ex- 
cept enough  food  to  keep  them  quiet, 
and  they  can't  get  that.  Then  one  of 
them  grows  frantic  and  the  rest  follow. 
Only  now  and  then  there's  a  '  Red ' 
Evans  who  has  hate  enough  in  him  to 
kill  the  insulting  despot  who  ruined  his 
daughter,  and  who  has  been  crushing 
and  cheating  him  for  years.  He  went 
mad,  and  now  the  law  is  loose  hunting 
for  '  Red '  Evans  as  terriers  hunt  for  a 
rat.  If  they  find  him  they'll  hang  him  ; 
and  this  is  justice,  of  course.  But  why 
need  i  Red '  Evans  ever  have  become 
what  he  was?  Why?  It's  such  a  big, 
terrible  question." 


64  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

Dr.  Ericsson  caught  her  hand  and 
kissed  it. 

"  You  should  have  put  an  iron  casing 
round  those  too  ready  sympathies  of 
yours,  Anne,  before  you  came  here. 
We'll  have  a  very  hard  time  of  it  if  we 
try  to  change  conditions  which  have  al- 
ways been,"  he  said  mildly.  "  Besides, 
I've  come  to  the  conclusion  myself,  for 
my  own  satisfaction,  that  the  small 
things  of  life  are  inevitably  balanced 
here;  so  life  in  total,  with  all  its  oppo- 
sitions and  wrongs,  must  be  as  evenly 
balanced  somewhere  else.  What  are 
your  plans  for  to-day?  I  wish  I  could 
go  with  you  and  Sefain.  Confound 
this  uncertain  leg  of  mine!" 

"  I'm  first  going  with  money  to  '  Red' 
Evans'  sister,"  said  Anne,  seating  her- 
self on  the  arm  of  his  chair  and  opening 
her  notebook.  "  Then  I  want  to  see  the 
interior  of  a  mine,  if  it's  possible.  I'd 
like  to  get  an  idea  of  the  graves  where 
these  men  spend  their  days.  To-night 
I  must  get  a  long  '  special '  ready." 

"  Sefain    must   go    with   you    every- 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  65 

where.  Don't  forget  that.  Good-by, 
my  dear.  Don't  fret  over  what  can't 
be  helped.  Remember  all  workers  are 
not  like  these.  Think  of  niggers  sing- 
ing in  a  lily-field!  Ah,  I  wish  I  were 
there  now!  " 

Anne  hurried  down  the  stairs  and 
found  Donald  waiting  for  her  with  a 
venerable  carriage.  He  did  not  see 
her  as  she  came  up  to  him.  Standing 
just  outside  the  doorway,  an  Inverness 
cape  flapping  around  him,  he  was 
sketching  in  the  salient  points  of  a 
noisy  group  across  the  road.  One  man 
stood  on  a  barrel,  his  arms  held  up, 
while  in  howls  he  called  on  the  others 
to  resist.  Around  him  were  a  score  of 
men,  —  Huns,  Poles,  with  a  smaller 
mixture  of  Irish  and  English,  —  their 
working  jeans  discarded  for  antique  and 
yellowed  broadcloth.  They  were  all 
stupidly  listening  without  sign  of  an- 
swering spirit,  their  faces  showing  that 
they  were  hungry  and  shivering. 

Donald  was  never  fully  aroused 
except  when  he  worked.  His  brown, 


66  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

nervous  fingers  held  the  book  intently, 
his  eyes  flashed  keenly  from  the  page 
to  the  men,  but  his  dark  face  looked 
pinched  in  the  raw  morning.  His  air 
was  frankly  dissolute. 

When  Anne  spoke  to  him,  the  smile 
of  which  he  always  seemed  ashamed 
made  his  face  attractive  for  a  second 
before  it  settled  again  into  the  usual 
ungracious  quiet. 

The  horse  went  at  a  crawling  pace 
over  the  hills  and  across  swampy  land, 
and  they  talked  of  the  work  for  the 
paper  as  if  they  were  two  men.  No 
personalities  were  touched  upon.  There 
was  nothing  to  brighten  the  drive,  and 
after  a  long  distance  covered  in  the  face 
of  a  mist  that  made  Anne's  cheeks  like 
pale,  wet  roses  they  stopped  before  the 
house  where  "  Red  "  Evans  had  lived. 

The  clamor  following  disgrace  sur- 
rounded it.  Women  bowed  by  the 
malformations  of  toil  and  years  stood 
shoulder  to  shoulder  with  idle  men,  all 
talking  loudly,  their  eyes  fastened  upon 
the  sulphur-hued  cottage,  whose  under 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  67 

story,  from  the  trembling  of  the  tun- 
nelled land,  had  been  shot  out  like  a 
hag's  jaw. 

"  She's  in  there,"  said  Donald.  "  They 
say  she's  like  a  crazy  woman.  I'll  go 
in  with  you." 

He  tied  the  horse  to  a  post  and 
shielded  Anne  through  the  curious 
crowd.  After  some  imperative  knock- 
ing and  promises  of  help  to  the  woman 
shrieking  abuse  from  within,  the  door 
was  guardedly  opened,  and  they  stood 
before  '•  Red  "  Evans'  sister. 

Anne  shuddered  at  the  face.  The 
forces  in  a  soul  that  damn  seemed  to 
have  set  fire  to  all  the  softness  in  the 
woman  and  left  their  flames  blazing  in 
her  hollow  eyes.  With  lank,  gray  hair 
falling  to  her  shoulders,  and  veined 
hands  clinched  at  her  sides,  she  stood  at 
bay  in  the  desolate  room,  bitten  through 
with  grief,  an  epitome  of  hatred,  famine, 
and  fear.  Unnoticed,  Donald  swiftly 
made  a  sketch  of  her  and  at  a  sign  from 
Anne  slipped  out,  leaving  her  to  her 
difficult  task. 


68  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

In  the  warmth  of  her  sympathy  and 
gratitude  for  the  visible  help  she 
brought,  the  beast  in  the  sufferer  was 
conquered,  and  with  wild  weeping  she 
told  the  story  of  her  life.  She  had 
been  born  on  a  sheep  farm  in  Scotland 
near  a  river  winding  through  a  valley ; 
and  had  left  it  to  come  to  her  brother 
when  his  wife  died.  Anne  saw  the  lost 
home  plainly  as  the  homely  sentences 
sketched  it  —  a  place  of  perfume,  light, 
and  healthy  sleep;  she  realized  the 
gloomy  change  to  this  black  valley 
with  "Red"  Evans,  the  morbid  slave; 
his  daughter,  pretty  and  wild,  ready  to 
sell  her  soul  for  a  trinket  and  at  length 
flying  away  in  shame;  and  the  younger 
son,  Joe,  a  picker  boy,  choked  with 
miner's  asthma. 

"  An'  ye'll  write  what  I  tell  ye,  miss. 
Ye'll  spek  the  truth.  Ye'll  belike  mek 
people  a  bit  sorry.  Aye,  aye,"  she  said, 
nodding  at  the  dead  ashes  on  the  hearth, 
"  ye'll  say  our  hearts  are  breakin',  that 
shame  and  hunger's  eno'  to  mek  men 
distraught;  but,  ah,  miss,  ye  won't  mek 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  69 

'em  feel  it;  ye  can't  mek  'em  feel  it! 
I'd  ha'  to  tek  my  heart  out  and  put  it 
inside  ye  before  ye  could  know  what  I 
do,  an'  what  I  canna  tell  ye,  miss." 

Anne  could  not  utter  one  of  the  com- 
forting, philosophical  things  she  had 
fancied  at  her  command.  She  let  her 
hand  rest  for  an  instant  on  the  forehead 
where  care  had  set  a  skein  of  tangled 
lines,  gave  a  circular  glance  in  the 
hopeless  room,  and  went  out,  her  heart 
affrighted. 

Donald  was  not  among  the  crowd, 
but  she  went  on,  expecting  him  to  join 
her.  He  did  not  appear,  and  soon  she 
found  herself  close  to  the  mine  around 
which  the  straggling  village  was  built. 

Before  her  stood  the  high,  coal-black- 
ened building  similar  to  a  wooden  light- 
house, which  miners  call  a  breaker. 
She  knew  when  the  mines  were  work- 
ing big  cars  were  impelled  up  to  this 
height  from  the  fastnesses  of  the  earth, 
that  there  the  coal  was  broken,  sorted, 
and  sent  down  through  iron  grooves  to 
waiting  cars.  A  feeling  of  curiosity  im- 


70  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

pelled  her  to  go  up.  It  would  be  strange 
to  stand  in  a  high  breaker,  look  out  on 
a  level  with  the  hills,  fancy  the  riven 
coal  leaping  down  the  rafters,  and  there 
write  her  notes  of  the  morning. 

Passing  the  silent  engine-houses  and 
empty  furnaces,  she  went  up  the  steep 
ladders  to  the  top.  On  the  last  step 
she  paused,  made  suddenly  aware  that 
the  breaker  was  tenanted.  Donald  was 
sketching  some  one.  Moving  to  one 
side,  unseen,  she  saw  that  the  model 
was  little  Joe  Evans,  the  murderer's  son. 
He  had  assumed  his  working  position 
beside  an  empty  shoot,  his  head  low- 
ered, his  hand  extended,  as  if  picking 
the  refuse  from  the  sliding  coal.  He 
had  evidently  digested  the  fact  that  his 
picture  was  being  made  for  a  newspa- 
per, for  there  was  exaltation  in  his 
face.  Hidden  in  the  shadow,  Anne 
leaned  against  one  of  the  posts  and 
watched. 

"  The  air  must  be  filled  with  dust 
when  the  coal  comes  tumbling  down 
before  you,"  Donald  was  saying,  and 


A  Circle  in  the   Sand  71 

he  whistled  softly  as  he  waited  for  a 
reply. 

"  It's  that  what  gives  us  the  asthma," 
said  Joe,  backing  up  his  words  by  a 
most  awful  cough. 

"  Got  anything  on  under  that  rag 
of  a  coat?"  asked  Donald  cheerfully. 
"Let's  see." 

The  child's  blue  pallor  went  crim- 
son, but  in  a  half  fearful  way  he 
opened  the  jacket  and  bared  his  puny 
chest. 

"All  right,"  Donald  nodded.  "I 
wanted  to  know;  that's  all."  And  he 
commenced  whistling  softly,  while 
Anne's  heart  grew  hot.  This  was  ar- 
tistic savagery  run  amuck. 

"  How  old  are  you,  Joe  ?  " 

"Nine." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  all  day  as 
you  sit  picking  the  slate  from  the 
coal?" 

"Nuthin'I"  His  violet  eyes  were 
vapid  wells  between  grimy  lashes. 

"  Do  you  know  what  the  sea  is, 
Joe?" 


72  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

He  shook  his  head  negatively  with- 
out any  interest. 

"  The  great  shining  sea  where  ships 
sail  —  never  saw  that,  Joe  ?  Just  turn 
your  head  a  little  the  other  way —  so. 
Often  hungry,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Joe  smiled  wanly  as  if  at  a  jest. 
There  was  no  need  to  affirm  a  self- 
evident  truth. 

"  The  coal  rushing  down  the  shoot 
without  a  moment  of  rest  must  make 
your  head  ache,  I  should  think  ? " 

Joe  forgot  about  the  proper  angle 
for  showing  off  his  knife-blade  chin 
and  drawn  eyelid.  He  dropped  his 
head  to  his  scrap  of  a  hand  orna- 
mented by  knuckles  and  nails  beyond 
redemption.  His  eyes  looked  up  with 
unquestioning  patience. 

"  It  always  aches.     It's  achin'  now." 

A  sigh  came  from  the  dry  mouth, 
and  it  had  the  effect  of  a  clarion  call 
on  Donald.  The  apathy  went  from 
him.  He  flung  his  book  to  the  floor. 
His  face  was  twitching.  His  eyes 
burned. 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  73 

"  My  God,  child,  how  terrible  you 
are!  "  Kneeling,  he  brought  his  face 
to  a  level  with  Joe's,  his  hands  grasp- 
ing the  boy's  shoulders. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  Joe.  Don't  cry. 
I'm  not  mad,"  he  said,  a  sob  creeping 
between  his  set  teeth.  "  Oh,  you  poor 
little  chap,  you  sad-eyed  little  slave! 
Oh,  hungry  and  sick  and  old,  and  only 
nine,  picking  the  coal  the  whole  day 
through,  thinking  of  nothing  and 
breathing  death!  Joe!  Joe!  Where  is 
your  God  and  mine,  that  a  child  like 
you  exists  under  the  sky?" 

Fascinated,  shrinking,  Joe  looked 
into  his  eyes  and  said  nothing.  Anne 
could  hear  her  heart  in  the  stillness, 
her  eyes  fastened  first  on  Donald's  dis- 
carded sketch-book,  then  on  his  kneel- 
ing figure. 

"Joe,"  he  said,  after  a  long  silence, 
and  now  his  voice  was  quiet,  "  some- 
thing wonderful  is  going  to  happen  to 
you,  something  better  than  your  starved 
mind  can  understand.  I'm  going  to 
take  you  to  a  great  big  city  with  me. 


74  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

I'm  going  to  give  you  good  things  to 
eat,  better  than  anything  you  ever 
tasted,  —  warm  clothes,  too,"  he  said, 
slipping  his  hand  through  the  broken 
jacket  and  laying  it  on  Joe's  flesh. 
"You  shall  see  the  sea  and  everything 
that  boys  love.  Oh,  I've  never  loved 
anything,  but  I'll  love  you!  You'll  be 
a  happy  boy  yet,  if  it's  not  too  late  "  — 
he  groaned  defiantly  —  "  if  it's  not  too 
late.  Oh,  you  poor  little  baby,  with 
your  terribly  wise  eyes,  will  you  come 
with  me?  Joe,  will  you?" 

Anne  made  her  way  down  the  shak- 
ing ladders  without  being  heard.  Her 
swollen  heart  seemed  crowding  her 
throat.  She  stood  in  the  chilling  rain, 
quivering  with  excitement.  She  had 
had  her  first  glimpse  into  Donald's 
soul,  and  it  had  terrified  her. 

It  was  still  early  when  they  returned 
for  lunch  to  the  hotel.  Joe,  stunned 
into  silence  and  with  round  eyes,  ac- 
companied them. 

"  I'm  going  to  adopt  him,"  was  all 
the  explanation  of  his  presence  Donald 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  75 

had  given.  He  was  again  as  unread- 
able as  a  mollusk,  and  Anne  could 
almost  believe  the  scene  in  the  breaker 
had  been  of  her  imagining. 

Hours  afterward,  as  she  sat  in  the 
rainy  dusk  writing  an  impassioned  ac- 
count of  the  day,  a  faint  knock  sounded 
on  her  door.  Donald  stood  outside, 
very  pale,  an  unusual  eagerness  in  his 
manner. 

u  If  you  want  to  see  what  a  mine 
looks  like,  Miss  Garrick,  this  will  be 
your  only  chance.  The  sheriff  and  his 
men  have  come  over  with  militia,  and  for 
the  past  hour  the  engines  have  been 
going,  pumping  down  air,  you  know. 
They  think  that  perhaps  '  Red '  Evans 
is  hiding  there." 

"  But  could  he?  How  could  he  get 
down  if  the  cage  wasn't  working  ?  " 

"  You  see,  besides  the  cage  there's  an 
iron  bar  —  a  sort  of  ladder  with  flat 
prongs  laid  upon  it,  the  whole  only  half 
a  yard  wide.  This  goes  down  through 
a  separate  opening.  It's  put  there  as  a 
precaution  in  case  of  explosions  or  in- 


76  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

jury  to  the  cage,  but  it's  a  matter  of  life 
and  death  to  use  it.  A  desperate  man, 
however,  wouldn't  hesitate  to  take  the 
one  chance.  The  sheriff  fancies 'Red' 
Evans  may  be  clinging  to  the  bar  a 
good  way  down  beyond  sight,  yet  not 
too  far  from  the  air.  I  don't  believe  it. 
It's  almost  absurd.  But  they're  going 
down  and  will  take  us  along." 

"All    right,"    said   Anne.       "But    I 
won't  tell  Dr.  Ericsson.     He  might  be 


nervous." 


Twenty  minutes  later  they  were 
again  at  the  mine.  The  scene  was 
animated  now.  Lanterns  like  the  eyes 
of  grotesque  animals  shot  from  one  point 
to  another  in  the  falling  night.  A  line 
of  soldiers  controlled  the  swell  of  the 
mountain,  and,  above,  the  strikers  with 
their  families  sullenly  watched.  From 
wooden  sheds  came  the  braying  of 
mules.  Four  men  stood  near  the 
cage,  which  resembled  a  huge  brass 
boiler  with  a  round  opening  for  air 
at  a  man's  height.  The  hissing  and 
throbbing  of  engines  and  the  sound 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  77 

of  many  voices  filled  the  valley  with 
life. 

Anne's  fingers  were  unsteady  as  she 
put  on  the  miner's  protecting  outfit. 
This  was  a  rubber  blouse  to  her  knees 
and  a  wide-brimmed  glazed  hat,  a  little 
oil  lamp  flickering  in  front  just  above 
the  brim. 

"  Ready ! "  said  the  sheriff,  and  the 
wire  rope  throbbed. 

The  cage  shot  down  with  tremendous 
speed.  The  lamps  on  the  hats  flared 
in  the  gust  through  the  circular  open- 
ing in  the  wall.  It  was  a  breathless, 
anxious  descent.  Anne  closed  her  eyes 
and  stood  like  one  in  a  trance  until 
the  journey  was  completed. 

When  by  Donald's  side  she  stepped 
into  the  underworld,  an  overwhelming 
depression  seized  her.  She  had  not 
dreamed  how  the  knowledge  of  being 
two  thousand  feet  beneath  the  ground 
she  trod  so  lightly  could  chill  a  heart. 
The  rank,  moist  place  smelled  of  death. 
She  gazed  at  the  jagged  ceiling  of 
coal  upheld  by  tremendous  tree-trunks 


78  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

placed  at  regular  distances  and  forming 
a  rude  aisle,  the  fungi  on  props  and 
beams,  the  green  pools  in  every  de- 
pression, the  empty  mule-carts  and 
discarded  picks.  Just  where  the  hat- 
lamps  flung  their  beams  there  was 
light,  and  beyond  lay  appalling  mys- 
tery. 

"You'd  better  sit  on  this  knoll;" 
and  Donald,  circling  his  lantern  over 
his  head,  showed  her  the  up-hill  recesses 
of  a  vast,  worked-out  chamber.  "I'll 
go  with  the  men  down  this  gangway  a 
bit.  We'll  not  be  far  away.  See, 
they're  looking  in  the  mule-carts.  I'd 
like  to  be  on  the  spot  if  they  get  him. 
I  want  his  face." 

"  I'll  be  alone  here !  "  was  Anne's  in- 
ward exclamation.  "  You  won't  be 
long,"  was  what  she  said,  and  sat  down 
apparently  calm. 

"  We're  just  going  down  this  gang- 
way." And  Donald  turned  away,  his 
fingers  tingling  to  sketch  her  as  she  sat 
there,  the  light  flaring  above  her  eyes. 

Ten    minutes     passed.      Anne    saw 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  79 

the  men  entering  the  various  hewn 
chambers,  plunging  their  lanterns  into 
clumsy  carts,  leaping  into  pits.  Her 
heart  seemed  to  have  ceased  beating. 
She  found  herself  waiting  for  a  cry  of 
triumph  and  fancied  the  searchers  drag- 
ging out  a  struggling,  stormy-browed 
figure,  the  murderer  at  bay. 

Then  an  unlooked-for  thing  happened. 
Without  warning  the  moving  throng  of 
figures  turned  a  corner,  and  she  was 
alone,  in  silence  save  for  the  dropping 
of  water,  in  darkness  save  for  the  light 
upon  her  hat.  She  seemed  to  become 
stone  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of 
horror. 

This  paralyzing  spell  broke,  and  her 
blood  crept  in  cold  currents  around  her 
spine,  for  up  in  the  black  hollow  behind 
her  she  heard  a  quick  breath,  then 
another,  and  a  piece  of  coal  tinkled 
down  the  declivity  to  her  feet.  The 
breathing  came  closer.  It  was  just 
behind  her  now.  There  was  a  step, 
and  she  knew  a  horror  unnamable 
stood  at  her  back.  She  did  not  turn  or 


8o  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

move  the  stiff  fingers  clasping  her  knee, 
or  flicker  an  eyelid. 

She  was  roused  from  the  weight  of 
terror  by  a  sight  to  haunt  her  while  she 
lived.  A  man  grovelled  before  her,  his 
supplicating  clutch  upon  her  knee.  The 
uncertain  flame  of  her  lamp  flung  blue 
splashes  into  the  hollows  of  his  face. 
His  red  hair  was  glued  to  his  throat. 
The  red-streaked  flannel  shirt  was  open 
to  the  waist,  showing  his  hairy  chest. 
Mildew  and  coal-black  covered  him. 
There  was  a  mortal  hunger  in  his 
glance.  She  was  gazing  at  "  Red  " 
Evans  and  he  was  praying  for  his  life  — 
but  praying  was  a  mild  word  for  the 
spurting  whispers  from  his  gaping 
mouth  as  his  eyes  shot  from  right  to 
left  in  fear  of  the  returning  hunters. 

"Didn't  set  out  for  to  kill  Binkley, 
as  God  hears  me,  miss.  No,  'twas  fair 
fight,  an  he  druv  me  mad.  I  flung  the 
stone.  I  didn't  believe  him  dead  till  he 
fell  back,  wi'  the  blood  bubblin'  from 
him.  I  been  hidin'  here  for  two  days, 
starvin'  on  that  ladder,  'tween  earth 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  81 

and  hell;  crawled  down  when  the  en- 
gines begun  to  work;  been  lyin'  on  my 
face  up  here  ever  sence.  They'll  hang 
me.  Don't  let  'em.  Help  me.  I've 
had  a  hard  life  eno'  'thout  hangin'  at  the 
end  o't.  Oh,"  and  the  word  was  a  long 
shudder,  "my  God,  for  one  chance!  I 
never  had  noan.  One  chance  —  one!  " 

It  seemed  to  Anne  as  if  a  great  length 
of  time  had  passed,  as  if  herself  and  her 
life  were  myths,  and  nothing  in  all  the 
world  was  as  positive  as  this  man's 
misery  and  his  claim.  She  sat  motion- 
less with  strained,  bright  eyes. 

He  had  taken  another's  life,  it  was 
clear.  She  was  a  newspaper  woman, 
face  to  face  with  an  important  opportu- 
nity. If  she  gave  the  murderer  to  his 
pursuers,  the  "  Citizen "  would  have 
gained  a  story  unshared  by  its  rivals. 
As  a  newspaper  woman  she  should 
make  the  most  of  this  moment.  She 
hesitated.  The  man's  eyes  looked  up 
at  her  like  a  famished  dog's.  As  a 
newspaper  woman,  yes;  but  as  a 
woman,  no. 


82  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

She  sprang  up,  fired  by  the  desire  to 
save  him.  His  eyes  were  terrible  as 
he  crouched  in  the  slime  at  her  feet. 
He  had  suffered  enough. 

"  Come  along,"  she  said,  her  voice 
harsh  with  fear  as  a  man's  laugh  dis- 
tantly awakened  echoes  in  the  caverns. 
"  They've  already  searched  the  mule- 
carts.  Climb  into  this  one.  They 
won't  look  again.  Lie  down  low —  so. 
I'll  put  my  cloak  over  you.  Try  to 
breathe  more  softly.  Hush!  They're 
coming." 

Donald  hurried  toward  her  first,  and 
found  her  sitting  where  he  had  left 
her. 

"  Wagner  said  he'd  come  back  and 
stay  near  you,"  he  said  hurriedly,  as  he 
wiped  his  brow.  "  I've  just  found  out 
that  he  sneaked  on,  the  little  beast." 

"  Did  you  find  any  trace  of  Evans  ?  " 
she  managed  to  ask. 

"  No,  he's  not  here.  They  might 
have  known  that.  You're  shivering. 
Why,  where's  your  cloak  ?  " 

"  Say  nothing  about   that,"  she  said 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  83 

in  sudden  fear,  springing  up.  "  Manage 
to  have  the  others  go  up  first.  I'll  ex- 
plain after.  They  must  go  up  first. 
Leave  me  here." 

The  cage  had  been  very  crowded 
coming  down,  and  when  every  worked 
out  recess  had  been  searched  the  men 
were  glad  to  let  the  newspaper  people 
wait  for  a  second  trip. 

"  Well,  that's  settled,"  Anne  heard  a 
man  say,  his  throaty  tones  inflated  with 
satisfaction.  "  He  ain't  in  the  mine,  he 
ain't  on  the  ladder,  and  damn  him  wher- 
ever he  is." 

The  cage  leaped  beyond  her  sight. 
Donald,  with  the  ineffectual  light  mak- 
ing big  shadows  leap  around  him,  came 
down  the  alley  and  stood  before  her. 
He  knew  some  disclosure  was  trem- 
bling on  her  lips. 

"  We're  alone  now,"  he  said.  "  You 
look  awful.  Take  a  little." 

He  held  out  a  flask  of  whiskey,  and 
Anne  greedily  swallowed  a  mouthful. 
It  revived  her  and  made  her  brave 
again.  She  listened  to  the  creaking  of 


84  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

the  wire  ropes,  but  instead  of  fear  her 
eyes  flashed  with  determination. 

"  I'm  going  to  trust  you,  Donald  Se- 
fain,"  she  said  slowly,  rising  and  touch- 
ing his  arm.  "  Yes,  I'm  going  to  trust 
you.  I  believe  in  your  pity  and  your 
honor." 

His  eyes  answered  her;  he  held  his 
breath. 

"  I  know  where  i  Red  '  Evans  is," 
she  said.  "  He's  near  us,  hidden  under 
my  cloak.  He  begged  his  life  —  oh, 
how  he  begged  it!  —  and  I  couldn't  give 
him  up.  He  prayed  for  one  chance. 
I'll  give  it  to  him.  Will  you?" 

Anne  pressed  her  hands  upon  his 
shoulders,  the  divinity  of  a  mediator  in 
her  eyes. 

A  flood  of  feeling  trickled  over 
Donald's  heart,  something  never  felt 
before;  it  was  like  a  fire  loosening  some 
callous  growth,  and  seeming  by  a  mir- 
acle to  turn  it  to  sunshine  within  him. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  the  perplexing 
joy  still  controlling  him.  "  What  can 
we  do?" 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  85 

"  There's  only  one  way  '  Red '  Evans 
can  escape,"  she  continued  rapidly. 
"  I've  money  with  me.  I'll  give  it  to 
him.  But  that  doesn't  help  matters 
while  he's  hidden  here.  The  only  way 
he  can  leave  the  mine  unquestioned  is 
by  putting  on  your  blouse  and  hat,  and 
taking  your  place  when  I  go  up.  Once 
he's  freed,  I'll  return  for  you.  This 
is  my  plan  —  to  pretend  I  lost  some 
money  and  come  back  with  these 
things  I  wear  secreted  under  my  own 
cloak  for  you,  to  slip  them  to  you, 
have  you  put  them  on,  step  out  un- 
noticed and  join  the  searchers  for  the 
money.  It  will  be  easy  enough. 
We're  all  of  a  pattern  in  these  things, 
and  with  the  collar  up  and  one's  face 
turned  away  they  make  a  good  dis- 
guise. But  should  there  be  any  com- 
ment you'd  have  to  insist  that  you 
came  down  with  me  the  second  time. 
Are  you  willing?  Will  you  risk  it? 
I  promise  to  return  for  you." 

In  answer  Donald  took  off  the  long 
blouse  and  hat  and  saw  Anne's  eyes 


86  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

darken  with  gratitude.  She  pointed 
to  the  mule-cart. 

"  He's  there,  and  you'll  need  to  give 
him  some  whiskey,  he's  so  weak." 

After  putting  out  the  light  upon  his 
hat,  which  had  begun  to  flicker,  Donald 
stepped  across  an  oozing  stream  and 
leaned  over  the  cart. 

"Evans!  Evans!  Look  up!  Here's 
your  chance.  This  hat  and  blouse  "  — 
He  broke  off  abruptly.  "  Why  doesn't 
he  answer?" 

He  bent  nearer  and  touched  the  head 
arid  face  of  the  hidden  man. 

"  Oh,  if  he's  fainted  how  can  we  save 
him?  There  isn't  a  moment,"  whis- 
pered Anne,  in  a  frenzy  of  fear. 

Donald  climbed  into  the  mule-cart 
and  plunged  down. 

"He's  dead!" 

The  words  rang  out.  The  echoes 
carried  them  and  played  with  them. 
No  need  of  plans,  sacrifice,  danger. 
Freedom  and  the  hangman  were  alike 
impossible  and  indifferent  to  "  Red " 
Evans  now. 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  87 

Anne  saw  Donald's  face  lifted, 
touched  by  the  awe  always  follow- 
ing the  wake  of  the  great  mystery, 
but  only  for  a  few  seconds  before  her 
lamp  went  out  with  a  long  leap,  as  if 
protesting  against  some  new  uncanny 
presence,  and  they  were  in  darkness 
with  the  dead. 

Anne  sank  down,  her  folded  arms 
resting  against  a  wet  wall.  Everything 
seemed  to  slip  into  a  mist;  she  felt 
numbed,  vanquished,  when,  like  a  prom- 
ise of  good,  Donald's  groping  hand 
sought  hers  and  held  it  firmly.  They 
did  not  speak.  It  was  a  burden  even  to 
think  of  the  horrors  surrounding  them  — 
the  masses  of  coal  not  far  above  their 
heads,  creaking  like  a  lazy  monster 
settling  itself,  the  whimpering  of  flying 
rats,  and  the  knowledge  that  beside 
them  lay  a  dead  man,  a  look  of  affright 
on  his  face. 

After  a  while  it  became  evident  that 
something  delayed  the  return  of  the 
cage.  Hours  seemed  to  crawl  by  as 
they  sat  there,  hand  in  hand,  scarcely 


88  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

speaking  until  it  became  imperative  to 
talk  and  let  sound  trouble  the  black  pall 
dividing  and  overhanging  them. 

Then  something  happened  that  seemed 
to  Anne  beyond  belief.  Donald  in  hesi- 
tating tones  began  speaking  of  himself. 
To  see  the  lips  of  the  Sphinx  melt  into 
a  smile  could  scarcely  have  been  more 
astounding  to  her.  She  listened,  under- 
standing how  the  sights  and  sounds  of 
that  terrible  day  and  the  intimate  hand- 
clasp in  the  blackness  had  aroused  the 
inner  self  he  so  consistently  silenced. 

Her  heart  smarted  for  him  as  she 
heard  the  halting  story  of  his  childhood. 
She  could  see  him  left  orphaned,  under 
an  unfriendly  roof,  no  natural  love  ex- 
cusing his  faults,  loneliness  eating  into 
him.  Loneliness!  It  was  the  word  on 
which  his  life  had  reared  its  twisted 
structure. 

In  words  that  burned  he  sketched  the 
difference  between  David's  place  and 
his  in  John  Temple's  house  —  David, 
secretly  loved  by  him  always  and  bit- 
terly envied;  David,  the  figure  in  the 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  89 

white  light  which  he  might  adore,  but 
never  follow.  He  told  her  how  man- 
hood came  and  the  bitter  knowledge  of 
all.  He  was  despised,  superfluous,  and 
the  determination  took  root  to  fulfil  the 
promise  of  his  dark  origin,  to  sink  to 
the  level  considered  fitting. 

A  stronger  nature  would  have 
doggedly  risen,  no  doubt.  But  the 
other  was  easy,  natural,  and  had  not 
been  without  joy.  The  poor,  the  un- 
happy like  himself,  had  understood  and 
loved  him.  For  the  rest  he  had  grown 
content  to  tear  principles  to  rags,  revel 
in  the  mud,  live  for  the  moment,  and  go 
with  flags  flying  to  ruin  and  death. 

"  Why  didn't  you  try  to  do  well  ?  " 
Anne  asked  urgently. 

"  I  was  afraid,"  he  said,  in  a  lifeless 
tone.  "  I  thought  it  wouldn't  do  for  me 
with  the  inherited  tendencies  of  which 
I  was  so  constantly  reminded.  Besides, 
no  one  cared.  That  was  it.  It's  all 
well  enough  to  talk  of  doing  right,  but 
when  your  instinct  leads  you  to  the 
wrong  and  there's  not  a  soul  on  earth 


90  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

to  care  a  pin  if  you're  fished  out  of  the 
river,  a  boy  —  at  least  most  boys  — 
would  get  into  an  easy  stride  on  the 
wrong  road." 

"  No,  you  needn't  have  gone,"  she 
said  passionately. 

"  I'm  not  trying  to  excuse  myself." 
"  But  you're  not  hopeless,  are  you  ?  " 
"  I  don't  know,"  he  said  slowly.     "  I 
ought  to  be.     I  have  been.       But   to- 
night, somehow,  I  wish  I  could  begin 
over  again." 

He  heard  a  sob.  All  Anne  had  felt 
during  the  trying  day  and  the  pathos  of 
this  confidence  had  touched  her  beyond 
endurance.  She  wept  unrestrainedly 
from  a  full  heart.  She  could  not  see 
Donald's  eyes  nor  how  they  grew  intent 
and  unbelieving.  It  seemed  impossible 
that  he  should  hear  a  woman's  sobs  for 
him,  tears  for  him.  They  were  terrible 
and  racked  him,  but  they  were  sweet 
too. 

Before  he  could  fully  accept  the  won- 
derful occurrence  as  true,  and  before 
Anne  could  control  herself  to  speak, 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  91 

the  grating  of  the  wire  ropes  in  the  shaft 
cautiously  commenced. 

A  light  sprang  into  Donald's  face, 
and  despite  the  opposing  forces  tearing 
him  like  teeth  he  pressed  her  hand  and 
said,  in  a  whisper  that  was  slow  and 
difficult: 

"  If  I  do  make  anything  of  myself,  if 
I  ever  do,  it  won't  be  because  it's  right, 
nor  for  society,  nor  even  for  shame  of 
what  I  am,  but  because  you  care.  Say 
that  you  do." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  care.  Indeed 
—  indeed  — I  do!" 

When  they  entered  the  cage,  Anne's 
tear-swollen  face  needed  no  explanation. 
To  have  been  kept  in  a  mine  for  an 
hour  without  a  light  because  part  of  the 
machinery  had  slipped  its  groove,  and 
to  have  chanced  upon  "  Red "  Evans, 
dead,  was  enough  to  unnerve  any 
woman. 

Only  Anne  and  Donald  ever  knew 
the  truth  of  that  hour.  They  stepped 
into  the  night  and  saw  the  moon  filling 
the  place  with  phosphoric  light,  making 


92  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

a  glory  of  the  drenched  earth.  More 
marvellous  than  this  white  atmosphere 
of  peace  after  the  stormy  day,  was  the 
friendship  which  had  put  forth  sudden 
flower  in  silence  and  night. 


Chapter  VIII 

AFTER  three  weeks  among  the 
mines,  Anne  returned  to  New 
York.  She  had  left  the  city  frowning 
under  fogs:  it  greeted  her  home-com- 
ing with  a  cold  sky  as  blue  as  in  sum- 
mer, the  peace  of  freshly  fallen  snow, 
and  the  glint  of  icicles  in  a  vivid  sun- 
light. 

After  luncheon  as  she  prepared  for 
her  first  visit  to  the  office,  everything 
was  forgotten  but  the  thought  of  seeing 
David  again.  He  would  greet  her  as  a 
friend  returning:  she  would  regard  him 
with  a  new  vision,  the  knowledge  of 
her  love,  a  secret  to  be  sternly  kept. 

When  she  walked  from  the  elevator 
to  the  editorial  rooms,  she  was  pale, 
expectant,  her  heart  stirring  with  a 
nervous  excitement.  Never  before  had 
she  crossed  that  hall,  subdued  by  this 

93 


94  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

uncertainty  and  joy,  nor  opened  the 
door,  wishing,  yet  dreading,  to  hear 
David  Temple's  voice. 

The  first  circuitous  glance  told  her 
he  was  not  there,  nor  in  his  private 
room  beyond,  for  the  door  stood  open. 
But  the  scarred  man  was  in  evidence 
and  vaulted  over  his  desk  to  meet  her, 
the  news  editor  took  the  trouble  to  wipe 
his  hands  on  a  blotter  before  greeting 
her,  and  the  dramatic  critic,  who  didn't 
like  women  anywhere,  and  hated  them 
in  a  newspaper  office,  blew  his  nose 
nervously.  Donald  Sefain  alone  at  his 
desk,  with  frowning  brow,  looked  at  her 
once  and  looked  down,  white  to  the 
lips. 

Jack  Braidley  swung  in,  the  tall  hat 
he  wore  on  all  occasions  pushed  far 
back,  half  a  dozen  actresses'  photo- 
graphs protruding  from  his  pocket.  In 
his  excitement  at  seeing  Anne  he 
dropped  the  best  cigar  he  had  borrowed 
that  day,  and  rushed  forward  to  seize 
her  hand. 

But  he  had  to  make  room  for  Pete, 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  95 

who  danced  a  hornpipe  on  a  desk,  hav- 
ing left  the  sporting  editor's  side  while 
the  promise  of  a  tip  on  the  coming 
prize-fight  trembled  on  his  lips. 

Anne  patted  Pete's  bitten,  dirty  hand, 
thrust  impulsively  into  hers,  then  looked 
over  at  Donald.  He  was  bending 
above  a  sketch,  and  she  was  struck 
by  the  contrast  between  his  sunken 
cheeks  and  the  faces  of  the  men  around 
her. 

As  if  doing  a  most  usual  thing,  she 
walked  past  the  little  group  to  his  desk. 
She  could  feel  the  consternation  of  the 
watchers  as  she  bent  over,  facing  the 
worker,  her  back  to  the  rest. 

"  You've  not  spoken  to  me,"  and  the 
smile  upon  the  lifted,  crimson  lip  was  a 
frank  invitation  to  good-fellowship. 

The  blood  rushed  to  Donald's  face, 
his  eyes  fell.  A  glance  over  her 
shoulder  at  the  men  he  had  always 
striven  to  antagonize  was  sufficient  to 
bring  the  old  gloom  to  his  eyes,  the 
defiance  to  his  manner. 

"You're  very  kind,"  he  said  coldly; 


96  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

"  but  I'm  used  to  being  ignored.  In 
fact,  I  prefer  it." 

Anne  regarded  him  thoughtfully  and 
read  him  aright.  He  hesitated,  he  was 
not  sure  of  her,  of  himself.  Habitude 
had  become  a  garment  fitting  like 
another  skin;  it  was  a  risk  to  discard  it, 
for,  hateful  though  it  might  appear,  there 
was  shelter  in  its  folds.  But  she  was 
not  to  be  so  easily  put  aside. 

"  I'm  going  to  annoy  you,  neverthe- 
less," she  said  coolly.  "  You  want  to 
break  our  pretty  compact.  Well,  I'm 
not  going  to  let  you.  I  can  be  persist- 
ent, Mr.  Sefain.  I  can  be  intensely  dis- 
agreeable. But  most  people  end  in 
liking  me,  and  so  shall  you.  Hereafter 
we  are  to  be  friends.  You  said  so. 
Come,  shake  hands." 

Challenge  and  entreaty  were  in  her 
eyes.  Donald  hesitated  only  a  second. 
His  hand  touched  hers.  Obeying  an  un- 
controllable impulse  he  beat  back  the 
painful  reserve  tempting  him  to  be  un- 
gracious, and  pressed  the  slender  fingers 
painfully.  It  was  more  than  the  most 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  97 

eloquent  acknowledgment  of  her  power 
from  another  man.  In  the  garish  sun- 
light of  this  prosaic,  dusty  place,  the 
words  spoken  in  the  lonely  mine  had 
been  ratified  by  that  handclasp,  and 
Donald  had  assumed  a  new,  important 
interest  in  the  eyes  of  his  companions. 

At  five  o'clock  Anne  left  the  office. 
It  was  a  winter  evening  to  fill  the  mind 
with  light,  the  heart  with  hope.  The 
gloom  of  the  mines  had  lain  heavily 
upon  her,  their  horrors  had  dragged 
her  heart-strings,  but  in  this  cold,  white 
world,  as  she  moved  among  the  quick- 
stepping  throng,  she  tingled  again  with 
the  joy  of  living. 

Instead  of  going  home,  she  took  the 
car  as  far  as  Madison  square.  When 
she  alighted  and  looked  around  she  felt 
as  if  moving  with  a  thousand  others  in 
a  magical  place.  People  met  here  in 
converging  streams  and  poured  away  in 
every  direction,  touched  by  the  long 
lances  of  spectral  brilliancy  coming 
through  riven  clouds  at  the  west. 
Blending  with  this  was  the  purplish- 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand 


pink  lustre  of  the  many  electric  lights 
around  the  snowy  square,  and  the 
spreading  glow  from  an  early-risen 
moon  crossed  by  a  tangle  of  denuded 
boughs. 

She  went  lightly  on,  touched  in  pass- 
ing by  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  peo- 
ple, and  hearing  infinitesimal  bits  of  a 
hundred  conversations.  She  knew  that 
solitude  in  a  vast  crowd  which  can 
be  despair  or  peace  according  to  one's 
mood.  Then  what  seemed  a  marvel- 
lous thing  happened  :  one  came  out  of 
the  moving  mass  and  spoke  her  name. 
It  was  David  Temple,  the  light  from 
the  west  on  his  face. 

"  Anne  ! "  he  said  gladly,  and  again 
"  Anne  ! " 

The  pallor  and  thinness  his  illness 
had  left  touched  her  with  pity,  and  this 
weakness  in  his  strength  attracted  her 
powerfully. 

"  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  ! "  and  he 
held  her  hand. 

He  turned  homeward  with  her. 
They  went  down  the  broad  avenue 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  99 

sinking  rapidly  into  shadow.  It  was  a 
wonderful  hour  to  Anne.  The  witch- 
ery of  the  night  was  in  her  blood  ;  the 
love  growing  so  silently  and  strongly 
within  her  filled  her  with  sweet  trouble. 

Hours  afterwards  she  sat  before  the 
fire,  thinking  of  David's  every  look  and 
word,  and  in  her  open  hands  lay  a  bunch 
of  violets  he  had  bought  for  her  from 
an  Italian  boy.  Their  breath  was  a 
caress,  as  his  voice  speaking  her  name 
had  been.  He  had  never  before  called 
her  Anne.  It  must  be  so  he  thought  of 
her. 

A  sense  of  joy  made  her  light- 
headed. She  was  something  to  him  ! 
The  light  in  his  earnest  eyes  had  told 
her  that  !  The  world  was  beautiful. 
It  was  good  to  be  alive,  young,  free,  as 
she  was.  Sorrow  surely  was  but  a 
word.  Hope  and  love  were  real,  and 
they  were  hers.  While  she  lived  she 
would  never  forget  that  December 
evening.  It  had  been  a  little  thing —  a 
chance  meeting  in  a  crowd,  a  surprised 
word,  a  treasured  look,  a  memory  to 


ioo          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

have  a  never-dying  brilliancy,  a  jewel 
connecting  links  in  the  chain  of  events. 

When  she  put  away  her  dreaming, 
and  sat  before  the  desk  to  continue  on  her 
novel,  it  was  late.  The  idea  of  the  story 
had  been  with  her  all  day  ;  she  had  felt 
herself  en  rapport  with  her  characters, 
the  glow  of  creation  had  seized  her  as 
she  walked  among  the  crowd  on  Madi- 
son square. 

Now  her  pen  lay  idle.  Fancy  re- 
treated before  the  personal  interests 
holding  her,  as  the  sun,  though  brill- 
iantly shining,  may  be  hidden  from  the 
gazer  by  the  intervention  of  one  leaf. 
There  was  too  much  of  self  in  every 
heart-beat,  too  much  of  love  and  the 
Might  Be.  The  thrilling  consciousness 
of  one  face  barred  her  entrance  to  the 
imagined  land.  She  was  so  happy  she 
could  not  write. 

Lingeringly  she  closed  the  desk  and 
drew  the  violets  towards  her. 


Chapter  IX 

BY  the  middle  of  December  even 
the  most  careless  in  the  office  of 
the  "  Citizen  "  had  commented  upon  the 
change  in  Donald  Sefain.  He  was  no 
longer  the  voluntary  recluse,  a  man 
parading  his  vices,  eager  to  be  judged 
by  them  alone.  He  had  learned  to 
believe  in  his  possibilities.  His  fettered 
nature,  feeding  on  all  that  was  rotten, 
had  risen  like  a  dazed,  hungry  thing 
following  an  instinct  for  better  food  and 
freedom.  Ambition,  a  rebellious  pris- 
oner always,  had  revived  in  him  after  he 
had  striven  to  crucify  it.  It  called  to  him 
in  the  long  nights,  in  his  lonely  walks, 
and  its  voice  was  somehow  Anne's: 

"  What  have  you  done  with  your 
life?" 

The  assertion  of  his  best  instincts  had 
left  their  marks  upon  the  outer  man. 


IO2          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

His  antagonism  and  gloom  had  almost 
vanished;  so  had  his  untidiness  and  air 
of  general  dissoluteness.  He  carried 
himself  better,  his  clothes  were  better, 
and  they  were  worn  as  if  he  respected 
them  and  himself. 

As  his  habits  mended  and  his  work 
steadily  improved  David  Temple  treated 
him  as  a  worker  whom  he  prized.  A 
closer  degree  of  intimacy  between  the 
two  men  seemed  impossible.  They  saw 
each  other  seldom,  save  in  the  office. 
But  Anne  was  the  friend  of  both. 

David  visited  her  less  often  than  in 
the  summer,  his  engagements  were  so 
many,  but  every  hour  he  could  spare 
was  spent  in  her  pretty,  out-of-the-way 
rooms.  He  let  the  social  mask  fall  when 
with  her  as  with  no  one  else.  Any  one 
seeing  him  pacing  up  and  down  her 
room,  a  privileged  cigar  between  his 
fingers,  as  he  indulged  in  brilliant  non- 
sense, laughing  like  a  boy  when  he 
pulled  her  pet  theories  to  bits  as  if  he 
blew  away  loose  rose-petals,  would 
scarcely  have  known  him. 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          103 

Anne  loved  these  hours  with  him, 
and  her  happiness  went  with  her,  ab- 
sorbing her  thoughts  to  the  detriment 
of  the  art  so  dear  to  her.  The  pen  lay 
dry  upon  the  sheets  of  her  novel.  She 
no  longer  struggled  against  the  passion- 
ate efFacement  of  self  in  another's  being. 
She  did  not  torment  her  heart  by  look- 
ing for  a  growing  love  in  David's  eyes. 
She  was  content  to  drift.  It  was  evi- 
dent to  all  that  he  was  very  fond  of  her. 
He  sought  her  familiarly.  She  knew 
nothing  of  his  life  beyond  the  small 
horizon  of  her  own,  and  feeling  an 
anticipative  joy  which  seemed  to  melt 
her  future  with  his,  she  was  content. 

Dr.  Ericsson  had  much  to  engross 
him  and  keep  him  away.  The  wild 
winter  weather  had  brought  the  usual 
illnesses,  and  the  Waverly-place  house 
was  in  chaos,  preparing  for  the  arrival 
of  his  wife  and  daughter  after  an 
absence  of  eight  years. 

Anne  had  plenty  of  leisure,  and  she 
gave  much  of  it  to  Donald  Sefain. 
Between  them  they  made  some  of  those 


104          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

winter  nights  idyls  of  joy  for  little  Joe 
Evans.  He  was  very  ill.  Giving  way 
to  rest  after  inured  hardship  seemed 
like  giving  way  to  grief,  and  his  weak 
body  collapsed. 

He  was  in  Donald's  new  home, — 
three  small  rooms  in  a  street  a  short 
distance  from  the  "  Citizen."  They 
were  cheap  apartments,  but  hopefully 
clean,  presided  over  by  a  "lone" 
woman,  Mrs.  Mulligan,  who  lived  on 
the  floor  beneath. 

Anne  often  went  home  with  Donald 
in  the  swift-falling  winter  dusks,  and 
stepping  from  the  hall  into  the  firelight, 
she  would  feel  as  if  summer  had  come 
across  the  snow  and  kissed  her.  The 
room  was  always  fragrant  from  a  bunch 
of  flowers,  the  kettle  always  singing, 
the  lamp  shaded. 

"Ah,  Joe,  dear,  if  yez  had  seen  me 
whin  I  was  young!  "  she  had  surprised 
Mrs.  Mulligan  saying  once  as  she  knit- 
ted beside  the  pillowed  chair  where  Joe 
reclined,  pale  from  the  languor  of  un- 
healthy sleep.  "  There  was  a  sight  for 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          105 

ye!  The  girls  of  to-day,  with  their 
crotched-in  bodies  and  white  cheeks 
stuck  to  the  bone,  —  what  are  they? 
Ah,  avick,  girls  were  different  in  moy 
toime  !  Why,  I  shtud  fourteen  stone, 
weighed  in  me  stockings.  Me  hair 
shtud  out  loike  eaves  on  both  soides  of 
me  head,  alanna,  'twas  so  thick.  As 
fer  me  cheeks,"  she  added,  in  a  climax  of 
triumph,  "  they  shtuck  out  loike  apples, 
and  were  that  red  ye  cud  bleed  them 
with  a  shtraw." 

On  nights  like  these  Donald's  nature 
seemed  to  expand  and  exult.  He  sur- 
prised Anne  by  his  humor,  his  mocking 
grace  as  host,  his  boyish  play  with  Joe, 
who  adored  him.  Sometimes  when  he 
read  aloud  after  dinner  and  Mrs.  Mul- 
ligan sat  motionless  as  the  Sphinx  save 
for  the  darting  needles,  Anne  knelt  on 
the  floor,  her  arms  around  the  boy.  His 
feverish  mouth  would  creep  close  to 
her  ear,  and  he  would  tell  her  how  he 
loved  Mr.  Sefain,  and  how  he  was  never 
to  go  back  to  the  mines,  never.  Anne 
would  assure  him  of  this  while  holding 


106          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

him  to  her  and  kissing  him  in  a  little 
storm  of  love,  and  then  her  eyes  would 
rove  over  him,  his  hands  with  no  more 
substance  than  claws,  dry  and  hot,  his 
hungry  eyes  seeming  to  hold  life  like  a 
picture  before  them  in  an  endeavor  to 
see  all  quickly  before  the  short  day 
ended. 

It  was  Donald  who  showed  Anne 
some  of  the  singular  sides  of  the  city's 
life. 

During  this  season  of  pure  frost  when 
the  electric  wires  spanning  the  town 
were  turned  into  glacial  ribbons,  and 
the  noise  of  traffic  on  the  frozen  ground 
was  like  the  clamor  from  brass,  she 
often  found  herself  treading  the  nar- 
row, uphill  streets  in  the  lower  quarter 
of  the  city  to  see  some  marvellous 
"  find  "  of  his. 

Once  it  was  an  old  Russian  musician, 
a  political  exile.  The  room  they  found 
him  in  was  wretched,  but  in  a  corner 
stood  a  samovar  of  copper  fit  for  a 
prince's  table.  This  and  the  Amati  on 
the  old  man's  knee  were  the  only  visible 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          107 

relics  of  a  sumptuous  past.  Bending 
over  the  decaying  fire,  he  had  played 
wild  and  terrible  music  for  them,  which 
awoke  strange  fancies.  It  seemed  to 
whisper  of  a  spirit  haunting  a  familiar 
but  empty  house  where  moonlight 
streamed  through  the  bare  windows  ;  it 
shrieked  of  shipwreck,  mumbled  of 
witches  dancing  in  a  haggard  dawn, 
prayed  for  life  while  the  block  and  the 
headsman  waited.  The  unsyllabled 
desolation  of  the  exile's  life,  it  had 
haunted  her  for  days. 

Although  working  in  the  office  of  a 
world-known  newspaper,  she  had  never 
seen  the  wonders  of  the  mechanism  used 
in  its  construction  until  one  midnight 
Donald  took  her  to  the  press-room. 
There  was  a  weighty  but  soundless  vi- 
bration as  she  went  down  the  stone 
stairs,  but  when  the  iron  door  was 
pushed  back  the  noise  was  so  tremen- 
dous it  leaped  out  like  a  bar  and  struck 
her.  A  gust  of  air  accompanied  it  which 
seemed  to  suck  her  down  the  ladder-like 
stairway  against  her  will,  until,  dazzled 


io8          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

and  bewildered,  she  stood  on  a  little 
bridge  overlooking  a  plateau  of  steel 
that  leaped  and  shivered  in  gigantic 
sockets.  Bare-chested  men  like  sweat- 
ing pygmies  stood  between  the  big 
machines,  and  above  them,  a  monster  of 
many  jaws,  the  roaring  presses  snapped 
up  the  paper.  On  the  first  page  there 
was  a  portrait  of  a  murderer,  and  this 
was  repeated  all  over  the  gas-lit  space. 
On  every  side  the  sinister  visage  with 
eyes  turned  obliquely  toward  her  came 
riding  into  view,  and  the  glittering 
clamps  seized  it,  seemed  to  crush  it  fu- 
riously, until,  like  the  stone  Sisyphus 
rolled,  it  appeared  again,  and  the  task 
was  incessantly  continued. 

It  was  Donald  who  showed  her  the  un- 
derground restaurants  where  the  news- 
paper "  hacks "  plunged  in  the  early 
morning  hours  for  coffee  that  was  like 
a  fluid  blessing.  She  went  with  him  to 
all  sorts  of  queer  and  storied  nooks. 
Once  they  had  tea  in  a  place  known  only 
to  a  few  privileged  scribblers.  This 
was  in  a  sort  of  ctd-de-sac,  a  swinging 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          109 

lamp  lighting  the  way  up  the  long  alley. 
Separated  from  the  noise  of  the  town  and 
waited  upon  by  a  genial  French  host  and 
his  wife,  they  had  seemed  in  Paris,  for 
the  secretive  niche  in  the  crowded  street 
might  have  strayed  from  one  of  Hugo's 
stories  and  settled,  out  of  countenance, 
in  a  commercial  atmosphere. 

Together  they  went  to  well-known 
studios  where  all  was  harmony  and 
beauty  —  idols  sombrously  contempla- 
tive, mediaeval  windows,  wood-carving 
from  India  and  rugs  from  Damascus. 
She  had  watched  the  last  touches  put  to 
a  landscape,  had  seen  a  sculptor  make 
lips  of  clay  smile  as  if  he  had  called  life 
there. 

Donald  had  taken  her  behind  the 
scenes  of  a  theatre,  and  she  had  watched 
the  progress  of  a  play  from  the  wings, 
had  gazed  with  critical  eyes  and  a  sense 
of  illusions  lost  at  the  mechanism  of 
what  had  so  often  enchanted  her  — 
exits,  entrances,  cues,  and  prompter's 
book. 

And  they  had  read  much  together  — 


no          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

the  exquisite  prose  of  Huysmans  and 
Mallarme,  Kipling's  crushing  phrases 
painting  the  arid  glitter  of  India, 
"  Tess,"  bare-armed  and  fawn-eyed, 
loving  tragically  in  a  setting  of  clover 
and  dawn  mists,  the  fatalism  of  the 
"  Rubaiyat,"  and  the  wholesome  cyni- 
cism of  Thackeray. 

They  shared  all  together  as  comrades 
and  confidants.  The  boy  in  Donald 
and  the  piquant  school-girl  only  masked 
in  the  woman,  clasped  hands  and 
laughed. 


Chapter  X 

ONE  morning  late  in  January  Anne 
opened  the  sheets  of  the  "  Citi- 
zen" and  saw  this  item  among  the 
society  notes: 

"  Among  the  passengers  on  the 
*  Teutonic,'  which  arrived  in  port  last 
night,  were  Mrs.  Lansius  Ericsson  and 
Miss  Olga  Ericsson.  The  latter  is  the 
latest  of  our  young  countrywomen  to 
return  to  America  with  a  London 
reputation  for  beauty." 

Five  days  later  Anne  stepped  from 
the  grayness  of  the  raw  afternoon  into 
Dr.  Ericsson's  house.  Her  aunt  had 
been  in  charge  but  a  little  while,  yet 
the  old  house  under  her  reign  possessed 
what  Anne  felt  it  never  could  have  had 
without  her.  A  maid  who  was  inof- 
fensive of  voice  and  light  of  step  took 
up  her  card,  an  open  fire  invited  her, 


ii2          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

the  aromatic  odor  of  green  things 
growing  in  a  winter  room  filled  the 
air,  the  light  was  toned  to  a  pale  yel- 
low, as  if  a  sunset  had  happened  pre- 
maturely. It  was  evident  Mrs.  Ericsson 
had  a  genius  for  selecting  the  salient 
requisites  of  an  inviting  home. 

"  Anne  Garrick,"  said  a  languid  voice 
behind  her,  "  how  d'you  do?" 

She  turned  to  face  the  aunt  she  but 
faintly  remembered,  a  small,  nervous 
woman,  pale-haired,  anxious-eyed,  so 
restless  she  seemed  like  one  half-paus- 
ing in  a  hurry  before  continuing  the 
pursuit  of  something. 

She  gave  Anne  her  pale  cheek  to  kiss, 
and  exclaimed: 

"  How  like  your  father!  You're  a 
Garrick.  You  are  not  a  Gerard." 

The  inflection  was  disapproving. 
Anne  felt  guilty  for  not  looking  like  her 
mother.  She  began  an  apology  for  not 
having  called  before,  but  with  amazing 
irrelevancy  Mrs.  Ericsson  darted  for 
the  door. 

"  Olga  is  upstairs.    Come  up.    We've 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          113 

been  waiting  lunch  for  you  for  fifteen 
minutes.  It's  all  right,  only  with  us 
every  moment  is  of  such  importance. 
All  the  morning  Olga  has  been  trying 
on  hats." 

She  turned  at  the  top  of  the  stairs, 
looking  like  a  distracted  sparrow. 

"  She  won't  have  a  hat  without  a 
brim.  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  like 
it?  Felice  came  all  the  way  from  Madi- 
son avenue  with  ten  hats,  all  close  fit- 
ting, and  we  begged  her  to  try  one. 
She  wouldn't,  not  if  I  went  on  my 
knees.  Olga  can  be  so  set!  Try  and 
talk  her  over  to  a  toque.  It's  simply 
madness  to  insist  on  a  brim  when  no- 
body is  wearing  one." 

Again  Anne  felt  like  a  culprit.  The 
felt-and-feather  creation  on  her  head 
had  a  brim.  It  was  useless  to  expect 
to  find  favor  in  her  aunt's  eyes,  since, 
looking  like  her  father,  she  came  wear- 
ing a  big  hat. 

"  Here's  Anne  Garrick  at  last!  "  And 
Mrs.  Ericsson  entered  a  big  bay-win- 
dowed room  as  inviting  as  fluted  Swiss 


ii4          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

curtains  and  pale  green  appointments 
could  make  it. 

A  young  woman  was  beside  a  win- 
dow, a  manicure  set  spread  out  on  a 
small  table  before  her,  and  she  was  ex- 
amining a  pink  nail,  much  as  a  jeweller 
does  the  springs  of  a  watch. 

"You  dear  thing!  How  are  you?" 
she  said,  going  to  meet  Anne,  and  they 
kissed  each  other. 

"  Let  me  look  at  you,  Olga,"  said 
Anne,  turning  her  to  the  light.  "  I've 
heard  you  are  beautiful.  Mr.  Tinkle, 
our  society  editor,  saw  you  at  the  opera 
last  night  and  has  talked  about  you  all 
the  morning." 

Olga  lifted  her  head  lazily  in  a  chal- 
lenging way  and  with  a  purring  laugh. 

"Upon  my  word!  Fancy  !  "  she  said, 
with  an  English  accent,  as  Anne  looked 
at  her.  "  What  do  you  think  ?  Am  I  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  are." 

Few  women  would  have  welcomed 
criticism  in  that  green  setting  and 
raw  light.  The  two  emphatic  qualities 
of  Olga's  beauty,  etherealness  and  deli- 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          115 

cacy,  did  not  suffer.  She  was  extraor- 
dinarily white.  The  skin  on  supple 
throat  and  quiet  cheek  was  of  almost 
silvery  pallor.  Moonlight  seemed 
bathing  her  pale  blond  hair.  Her 
greenish-gray  eyes  were  dreamy,  the 
pupils  large  ;  her  upper  lip  very  "short, 
full,  and  coral  pink.  "  A  moonlight 
maid,"  the  artists  in  Paris  had  called 
her.  There  was  not  a  heavy  note 
in  her  coloring.  The  blond  brilliancy 
of  some  Swedish  ancestor  lived  again 
in  her,  some  "  flower  of  northern 
snows,"  and  with  it  the  delicate 
American  features  of  her  mother.  She 
was  of  average  height,  and,  though 
slight,  her  body  had  a  delicate  robust- 
ness. She  wore  a  white  flannel  robe 
loosely  belted,  and  her  hair  hung  in  a 
plait  to  her  waist. 

"  You  don't  mind  my  going  to  the 
table  this  way  ?  I  am  lazy,  but  we  are 
en famille"  she  said,  strolling  into  the 
hall.  "  Mamma  hates  me  to  do  it,  but  I 
simply  cannot  dress  for  luncheon.  I'm 
as  stiff  as  a  German  cavalryman  all  the 


n6          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

afternoon  and  night.  I  must  have  a 
little  freedom." 

In  the  dining-room  they  found  Dr. 
Ericsson.  He  drew  Anne  to  him  and 
gave  her  a  bear-like  hug. 

"  Is  this  your  debut  as  a  family 
man  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  my  second  appearance.  I'm 
getting  used  to  the  lime-light.  I  met 
David  Temple  coming  up  town  last 
night  and  prevailed  on  him  to  dine 
with  us." 

"  What  a  charming  man  he  is  !  "  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Ericsson,  and  from  the 
commencement  of  the  meal,  with  short 
intervals  of  rest,  Anne  was  put  through 
a  catechism  by  her  aunt  about  David 
Temple.  Her  tongue  played  between 
her  lips  restlessly,  while  David's  posi- 
tion, money,  character,  and  possible  at- 
tachments were  inquired  after  minutely 
and  with  an  appraiser's  air.  When  the 
cross-examination  was  finished,  Anne 
had  a  feeling  that  David  had  been  tick- 
eted and  put  away  with  other  ticketed 
matrimonial  possibilities. 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          117 

The  pauses  in  this  research  were 
filled  in  by  a  recital  of  Olga's  past  and 
coming  triumphs,  what  she  must  and 
must  not  do,  who  was  worth  her  know- 
ing and  who  was  not. 

Anne  was  glad  to  get  back  to  the 
green  and  white  room,  the  door  closed, 
and  only  Olga  there,  looking  at  her 
with  amused  eyes. 

"  Look  here,  Anne,  isn't  she  har- 
rowing? Do  you  wonder  how  I  stand 
it?  There  ought  to  be  a  law  for  the 
suppression  of  uncongenial  relations. 
Mamma  is  really  impossible." 

She  flung  herself  into  a  rocker  and 
took  one  foot  into  the  embrace  of  her 
hand.  Suddenly  she  burst  out  laugh- 
ing. 

"  Anne  Garrick,  you've  a  very  ex- 
pressive face!  You  don't  envy  me, 
although  I'm  a  beauty  and  the  only 
daughter  of  an  adoring  mother!  " 

She  took  a  thin  cigarette  from  a  sil- 
ver box  on  the  table. 

"  Have  one  ?  You  don't  smoke  ? 
You  don't  know  what  a  comfort  it  is." 


n8          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

"But  doesn't  your  mother  object?" 
asked  Anne,  making  herself  comfort- 
able among  a  heap  of  cushions. 

"  Of  course.  What  doesn't  she  object 
to  ?  She  doesn't  want  me  to  eat  potatoes 
lest  they  make  me  fat,  nor  to  take  cold 
baths,  because  they  make  me  blue. 
She  rubs  my  nose  hard  every  night, 
because  one  little  pink  vein  —  see  it? — 
shows.  She  almost  cries  when  I  do 
my  hair  high,  and  takes  to  her  bed  if  I 
insist  on  more  than  one  cup  of  coffee. 
I'm  not  allowed  to  spend  a  penny  as 
I  please,  nor  to  have  an  original  idea 
about  a  gown  or  hat.  In  fact,  I'm  my 
mother's  stock  in  hand,  which  she  is 
always  polishing,  preserving,  eying. 
It's  very  trying.  Shall  I  tell  you  how 
I  manage  to  endure  this  continual  cen- 
sorship mixed  with  servile  worship  — 
for  mamma  does  adore  me.  A  pioneer 
never  regarded  a  finished  cabin,  every 
stick  of  which  had  been  laid  by  his  own 
hands,  with  more  satisfaction  than  she 
does  me.  She  does  not  seem  to  give 
papa  any  share  in  my  being  at  all." 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          119 

"  I  think  I  know  what  your  tactics 
are,"  said  Anne,  scrutinizing  her  good- 
humoredly.  "  You're  very  soft  and 
white.  You  seem  to  move  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  amiability,  but  I  have  not  for- 
gotten your  early  propensity  for  sticking 
pins  nor  the  educated  way  your  little 
nails  could  scratch.  You  could  scratch 
still,  Olga,  if  that  were  necessary,  but 
you  have  found  a  surer  means  of  gain- 
ing your  way." 

"  You've  hit  it.  What's  the  use  of 
continual  dispute  ?  Why  worry  this  one 
little  life  out  of  yourself  ?  You  want 
your  own  way  —  take  it.  Be  attentive  to 
all  the  rules  laid  down  for  your  con- 
duct, then  ignore  them  and  smile. 
When  you're  found  out  and  reproaches 
are  showered  on  you,  think  of  some- 
thing else  or  go  to  sleep." 

She  lighted  another  cigarette  with  a 
ruminative  expression  and  clasped  her 
hands  behind  her  head.  The  look  in  her 
eyes  was  like  that  of  a  mild  baby  trying 
to  diagnose  a  sunbeam. 

"  Really,  you  know,  if  mamma  would 


I2O          A  Circle  in  the   Sand 

only  rest  her  tired  little  body  and  head 
and  leave  me  to  myself  she'd  be  very 
wise.  She  has  nothing  to  fear  from  me. 
I  know  what's  expected  of  me.  We're 
poor;  worse,  we're  in  debt.  She  lives 
in  perpetual  dread  of  my  marrying  a 
poor  man.  Could  anything  be  more  ab- 
surd? Nothing  in  the  world  will  ever 
be  as  dear  to  me  as  my  personal  com- 
fort. For  a  girl  to  go  into  business  life 
as  you  have  done,  making  her  own 
way,  working,  struggling,  is  beyond 
my  understanding.  Some  one  must  al- 
ways support  me,  Anne,  and  support 
me  well." 

"  I  wonder  you  came  back  to  America 
without  a  title,  or  at  least  a  fortune." 

"  I  could  have  married  money  several 
times,  and  a  lot  of  it,"  said  Olga,  "  but 
unfortunately  I  distinctly  disliked  the 
men.  It  wouldn't  do  to  marry  a  man 
you  couldn't  for  the  life  of  you  be  civil 
to.  Would  it?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know !  Aren't  you  over- 
sensitive?" 

The  laughter  in  Anne's  tone  did  not 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          121 

disturb  Olga.  She  pursed  out  her  lips 
and  nodded. 

"  I  almost  caught  a  title  too.  This  is 
the  way  I  missed  it  :  for  one  thing, 
mamma's  eagerness  frightened  him. 
I'm  sure  he  could  see  her  shake  as  soon 
as  he  appeared.  I'm  sure  he  saw  her 
nudge  me.  But  that  wouldn't  have  seri- 
ously mattered  if  he  hadn't  found  me 
out." 

Her  lips  curled  in  a  one-sided  smile. 

"  I  can  laugh  now,  but  really  it  was 
provoking  at  the  time.  Val  —  dear  thing 
he  was  ! — hated  the  least  touch  of  un- 
conventionality  in  a  woman,  and  smok- 
ing he  considered  only  a  little  better 
than  swearing.  By  the  way,  I'm  telling 
you  the  truth  about  myself,  Anne.  It's 
such  a  relief  to  tell  it.  I  never  do  ex- 
cept to  relatives.  With  men  it's  impos- 
sible not  to  pose;  they  expect  so  much. 
Well,  my  dear,  I  posed  for  Val  for  six 
long,  weary  months.  I  played  the  little 
lamb,  always  with  a  bit  of  needlework, 
practising  the  Madonna  gaze,  taking 
only  one  glass  of  champagne  at  dinners 


122          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

and  declining  cigarettes  with  a  shy,  re- 
proachful glance.  He  used  to  tell  me 
I  was  his  ideal,  that  it  seemed  profane 
to  love  me,  that  nature  knew  what  she 
was  about  when  she  fashioned  me  like 
an  angel,  etc.  One  day  he  walked  into 
Morley's  where  I  was  having  my  por- 
trait done,  and  found  me  with  Mrs. 
Sutton  Vane,  a  little  monkey  of  a 
woman  with  a  fast  manner,  and  whom 
he  particularly  detested.  We  had  a  bet 
on  as  to  which  could  blow  the  roundest 
rings  of  smoke.  I,  his  Madonna,  his 
angel,  his  snow-flower,  won,  while  he, 
unseen  by  me,  watched.  Sudden  bus- 
iness called  him  away  next  day,  busi- 
ness so  absorbing  he  never  came  back. 
Mamma  has  sat  up  nights  with  her 
finger  to  her  forehead  wondering  why. 
I  am  all  blank  amazement  when  the 
subject  is  broached.  And  here  endeth 
the  romance  of  Lord  Valentine  Dun- 
wearthy.  It  went  up  in  smoke." 
"  You  weren't  a  bit  in  love  with  him  ?  " 
"  In  love  ?  No.  I  never  loved  any- 
thing but  this.  Listen!" 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          123 

She  went  to  the  mirror  and  looked 
into  it  steadily  for  a  moment,  then 
turned  to  Anne,  her  whole  expression 
changed.  The  laziness  of  glance  van- 
ished. She  flung  up  her  head  and 
laughed  joyously.  To  Anne's  amaze- 
ment the  lines  from  "  The  Merchant 
of  Venice  "  where  Portia  decides  to 
masquerade  as  a  man,  left  her  lips  at 
first  tenderly,  with  half-hidden  laugh- 
ter, as  a  school-girl  confides  a  secret, 
then  with  assurance,  a  pretty  swagger, 
delighted  anticipation. 

Anne  listened  in  wonder.  The  room 
seemed  to  fade,  the  clatter  from  the 
street  became  unreal,  and  it  was  not 
Olga  who  stood  before  her.  It  was 
Portia  glittering  in  queenliness  and 
coquetry,  the  perfume  of  an  Italian 
garden  coming  in  with  the  sunset,  a 
minstrel  lounging  near  her,  swords 
distantly  clanking  as  waiting  gallants 
moved.  Her  voice  had  power  and 
sweetness.  Her  awakened  face  sparkled 
changefully.  She  seemed  possessed  of 
a  soul  with  wings  struggling  to  be  free. 


124          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

When  the  last  word  was  spoken  she 
sank  down  by  Anne's  side  and  seized 
her  hand. 

"You  liked  it?     I  see  you  did." 

"  Oh,  where  have  you  had  the 
chance"  — 

"  Didn't  you  know  they  went  wild  in 
London  society  over  my  Constance  in 
'  The  Love  Chase  '  ?  I  played  it  at 
a  dozen  houses  for  various  charities. 
Oh,  the  stage !  That  would  make  pov- 
erty endurable.  The  life  calls  me, 
Anne.  I  know  its  disadvantages,  —  no 
one  better,  —  but  it's  a  rare  lot  when 
you  feel  your  fitness  for  it.  I'll  never 
do  more  than  dabble  with  it  for  amuse- 
ment, but  if  I  could  —  if  I'd  been  free 
to  do  as  I  pleased  —  the  world  would 
have  heard  of  me.  Here's  mamma," 
she  broke  off,  the  light  leaving  her 
face.  "  She's  coming  with  hot  milk  to 
give  me  a  face-bath.  By  the  way,  she 
loathes  acting,  even  my  amateur  work, 
but  I've  already  made  arrangements 
with  Mrs.  Oswald  Morse  to  do  Kate 
Hardcastle  at  Tuxedo  for  the  Work- 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          125 

ing  Girls'  Library  Fund.  She'd  have 
palpitation  of  the  heart  if  she  knew  it. 
I'll  tell  her  the  day  before." 

Anne  left  her  in  her  mother's  hands, 
over  a  basin  of  steaming  milk.  The 
meeting  had  left  a  unique  and  emphatic 
impression. 

"  A  woman  with  a  thistledown  con- 
science, a  woman  to  pick  the  plums 
from  life  with  soft,  business-like  fingers 
and  an  indifferent  air,  five  feet  five  of 
radiant  selfishness,  —  that's  my  cousin 
Olga,"  she  thought  as  she  went  down 
the  street;  "but  I  like  her." 


Chapter    XI 

OLGA  appeared  as  Kate  Hardcastle 
at  Tuxedo,  and  the  town,  or  that 
part  of  it  circling  in  carefully  barred 
orbit,  talked  of  her.  The  papers  seized 
on  her  as  something  new,  and  printed 
pictures  of  her  as  a  beauty,  libellous 
things  in  which  she  looked  dropsical 
or  murderous  or  only  harmlessly  mad. 
Mrs.  Ericsson  kept  the  reporters  well 
informed,  fumed  over  the  newspaper 
abortions  of  her  darling,  went  with  her 
everywhere,  to  noon  breakfasts,  to 
dances  ending  at  dawn,  and  in  asides 
took  pills  to  stay  her  heart. 

Every  one  knew  that  Smedley  Joyce, 
who  had  met  Olga  in  London,  had 
been  her  sponsor  in  society.  In  his 
sister's  box  at  the  opera  she  had  made 
her  first  appearance  in  New  York. 

He   had    managed    invitations   for   her, 
126 


A  Circle  in  the   Sand  127 

given  a  luncheon  in  her  honor,  and 
in  his  rooms  on  Fifth  avenue,  at  a  tea 
where  a  rajah  in  a  marvellous  turban 
winked  his  brilliant  eyes,  David  Temple 
saw  her  again. 

There  are  some  men  one  cannot  dis- 
associate from  the  names  upon  their 
visiting  cards.  Smedley  Joyce  was 
one  of  these.  Smedley,  even  to  his 
intimates,  seemed  an  impertinence,  and 
Mr.  Joyce  commonplace.  He  was  his 
full  name,  from  the  glittering  apex  of 
his  bald  crown  to  the  toe  of  his  equally 
glittering  boot.  If  he  could,  he  would 
have  been  lighter,  younger,  and  with 
the  lungs  of  a  football  half-back,  but 
just  as  he  was  people  deferred  to  him. 
Hopelessly  devoted  to  a  single  life,  his 
cult,  however,  was  feminine  beauty, 
and  the  woman  he  admired  became 
the  fashion.  The  personality  of  Smed- 
ley Joyce  pervaded  New  York.  He 
was  a  permanent  fad;  his  vogue  was 
unquestioned,  like  the  Thanksgiving 
turkey  and  the  horse-show. 

In    the    fragrance    and    dusk    of    his 


128          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

beautiful  rooms  he  seized  David's  hand 
in  greeting  and  gave  it  the  fashionable 
upward  jerk. 

"  Ah,  you  did  get  up  to  see  us,  you 
dreadfully  busy  man!  You'd  make  us 
forget  you  if  that  were  possible."  And 
David  found  himself  passed  on  to  make 
room  for  the  next  comer. 

He  declined  tea  from  the  matrons 
receiving,  and  kept  near  the  door.  He 
had  come  in  only  for  a  few  moments  to 
see  the  rajah  and  talk  with  him.  As  he 
stood  there,  his  big  shoulders  and  keen 
face  showing  clearly  above  those  sur- 
rounding him,  he  looked  across  the 
whispering,  constantly  changing  crowd 
for  the  famous  Hindoo. 

Close  by  the  big,  yawning  leaves  of 
palms  screening  the  zither-players  he 
saw  him.  The  lean  brown  profile  with 
the  huge  crimson  turban  above  was 
bending  over  some  one.  It  was  Olga. 
When  the  crowd  parted  David  saw  her 
plainly. 

She  was  on  a  low  seat  beside  a  pink 
lamp,  her  mother,  now  chatting  at  a 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          129 

little  distance,  having  early  seen  the 
advantage  of  the  rosy  light.  She  was 
in  velvet  and  furs,  her  lips  under  a  deli- 
cate veil  lazily  smiling.  A  hat  with  a 
brim,  and  a  big  one,  shadowed  her  eyes 
and  gave  them  deeper  mystery.  Her 
pose  was  regal,  gentle.  The  upward 
glances  given  to  the  rajah  were  lazy, 
provoking.  Her  delicate  lips  were 
humid  with  a  childish  sensuousness. 

No  wonder  David  and  a  dozen  other 
men  who  watched  her  came  to  the  same 
decision  —  she  was  beautiful,  loving, 
gentle,  true.  She  seemed  the  sort  of 
woman  men  so  frequently  choose  as  a 
wife  and  never  as  a  comrade:  a  help- 
less, fascinating,  fastidious  creature, 
whose  eyes  express  the  words:  "Tell 
me,  dear,  just  what  to  do.  You  know 
so  much  better  than  I;"  not  a  woman 
of  original  opinions  on  anything  under 
the  sun;  as  conventional  in  thought  as 
in  the  way  she  wore  her  hair;  not  tailor- 
made,  independent,  or  athletic;  one 
whose  gowns  were  always  marvels  to 
men's  eyes,  fragrant  mysteries  of  lace 


130          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

and  ribbons;  a  woman  to  love  ease  and 
cushions  and  never  remember  an  ad- 
dress; to  coo  to  a  baby,  crave  needle- 
work, and  dabble  in  charity, — alto- 
gether a  seductive  contrast  to  the  restless 
spirit  of  a  man's  business  life. 

Her  physical  radiance  came  upon 
David  for  the  second  time  with  the 
power  of  a  summons.  He  had  fre- 
quently thought  of  her  since  the  pre- 
vious meeting.  No  one  who  once  saw 
Olga  ever  quite  forgot  her.  Side  by 
side  with  the  fancy  of  what  Elaine 
might  have  been,  her  lovely  face,  rare 
in  type,  took  its  place. 

He  made  his  way  to  her  and  she 
gave  him  her  hand,  sinking  back  in  a 
lazy  attitude.  The  rajah  was  forgotten 
by  him,  and  they  talked  of  many  things, 
of  trifles  mostly,  but  Olga  had  a  way  of 
making  light  talk  entrancing.  Her 
speech  was  pretty,  and  her  laziness 
wrapped  a  listener  with  a  sense  of 
magnetic  quiet. 

Growing  more  serious,  she  questioned 
David  about  the  "  Citizen,"  of  Anne's 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          131 

position  in  the  office,  and  spoke  in  an 
attractively  feminine  way  of  the  mys- 
tery attending  the  making  of  a  news- 
paper. 

"How  can  Anne  do  it?"  she  said, 
smoothing  her  muff,  her  trustful  eyes 
lifted  to  his.  "  Oh,  I  suppose  Pm 
stupid,  helpless,  but  I  should*;'*"  like 
such  a  life  of  tension  and  rush;  always 
among  the  wheels  —  that's  how  it  seems 
to  me.  I'm  afraid  I'd  be  like  a  silly 
butterfly  caught  in  a  machine." 

"  Anne's  desires  are  different  from 
yours,"  said  David,  and  the  perfume 
of  the  violets  under  her  chin  lightened 
his  heart  as  if  the  shade  of  spring  had 
passed  him.  He  looked  at  her  almost 
tenderly.  "  Yours  are  better." 

"Think  so?" 

"  Better  for  a  woman,"  he  said  softly. 
"  I  think  so,  but  perhaps  I'm  intolerant; 
perhaps  I'm  old-fashioned.  ,  I  admire 
Anne,  and  I  like  her  more  than  I  can 
say.  I  like  many  women  who  hold 
her  ambitious  views,  but  they  seem  to 
me  to  gain  brilliancy  and  self-reliance 


132          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

at  the  sacrifice  of  a  quality  that  is  beau- 
tiful and  indefinable,  like  a  mist  or  a 
perfume." 

"  And  you  don't  despise  a  woman 
who  likes  needlework?  "  asked  Olga,  as 
if  confessing  to  one  of  her  pet  diver- 
sions; "who  doesn't  belong  to  a 
woman's  club;  who  cries  over  a  novel, 
and  maybe  not  one  of  the  best?" 

"God  forbid!"  said  David  vehe- 
mently. "  Soon  she'll  be  found  only 
among  obsolete  classifications.  I,  for 
one,  intend  to  extol  her  before  she 
quite  disappears." 

"Dear  me!"  she  said,  with  low 
laughter.  "  I  almost  feel  the  pin  through 
me  now,  as  I  repose  in  a  glass  case 
labelled  in  black  and  white,  *  Rare  speci- 
men of  woman  belonging  to  the  remote 
era,  when  she  did  nothing  but  try  to  be 
happy  and  was  glad  of  it.'" 

She  leaned  toward  David  as  she 
spoke,  and  some  one  brushing  past  her 
to  greet  a  friend  forced  her  closer,  so 
for  a  second  her  shoulder  pressed  his, 
her  lips  were  an  inch  away,  her  warm, 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          133 

startled  breath  swept  his  throat.  It  was 
but  a  second's  nearness,  yet  his  heart 
gave  a  throb  of  almost  savage  joy.  In 
a  flash  her  beauty  became  a  temptation, 
a  passionate  happiness  filled  him,  a 
breeze  seemed  to  sweep  along  his  nerves, 
and  he  knew  why  an  unexplained  joy 
had  come  to  him  with  the  first  sight  of 
this  woman's  face. 

With  her  arrival  his  senses  had  strug- 
gled to  awaken  as  at  a  call.  Now  there 
was  no  resisting  the  feeling.  It  was  a 
quick,  complete  fascination.  Conscious 
of  it,  he  grew  silent  and  looked  at  Olga 
with  new  vision. 

He  felt  how  apart  from  all  others  is 
the  moment  when  a  man  first  faces  the 
question  placed  before  him  by  his  own 
consciousness,  "  Is  this  the  woman  I 
am  to  love  ?  "  It  may  be  he  awakens 
to  the  truth  slowly  after  she  has  passed 
through  the  changes  from  stranger  to 
nearest  friend.  Or  one  look  into  an 
unfamiliar  face  may  blur  all  save  the 
pursuing  newness  of  that  one  truth. 
The  moment  is  the  same — over-sweet, 


134          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

painful,  intimately  dear,  never  to  be  for- 
gotten. 

There  was  no  chance  for  further  talk 
between  them.  Smedley  Joyce  bore 
down  on  Olga  with  a  monocled  stranger 
in  tow.  A  moment  afterward  a  famous 
singer  was  announced.  Every  one 
knew  it  was  Smedley  Joyce's  law  that 
the  music  for  which  he  paid  so  much 
should  be  respected,  and  silence  save 
for  an  occasional  whisper  and  rustle 
settled  upon  the  crowd  as  the  singer 
appeared. 

She  was  pale,  with  heavy-lidded,  sad 
eyes.  A  white  gown  draped  her  thin 
form.  Roses  flamed  in  her  girdle. 
Her  contralto  voice  was  strange,  un- 
earthly, as  she  sang  in  a  whisper  of  the 
heart-wrung  damozel  who  watched 
from  Heaven.  She  sang  of  love  with 
death  closely  following.  Her  fingers 
moved  slowly;  she  seemed  talking  to 
the  keys: 

"  '  I  wish  that  he  were  come  to  me  — 

For  he  will  come,1  she  said. 

'  Have  I  not  prayed  in  Heaven  ?     On  earth, 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          135 

Lord,  Lord,  has  he  not  prayed? 

Are  not  two  prayers  a  perfect  strength, 

And  shall  I  be  afraid  ? 

"  '  There  will  I  ask  of  Christ  the  Lord 

This  much  for  him  and  me  — 

Only  to  live  as  once  on  earth, 

With  love  ;   only  to  be, 

As  then  awhile,  forever  now 

Together,  I  and  he.' " 

Music  had  never  moved  David  Tem- 
ple like  that  strange  song.  It  saddened 
his  heart,  while  his  brain  was  ravished 
with  a  sense  of  its  beauty.  It  gave  to 
the  new  passion  thrilling  him  an  ideal- 
ity which  it  did  not  possess. 

He  looked  at  Olga,  hoping  for  one 
glance,  but  she  was  sitting  with  her 
head  turned  away,  her  eyes  on  the 
singer,  waiting  for  the  next  song.  David 
wanted  to  hear  no  more.  He  wished 
to  keep  the  memory  of  that  cry  of 
human  need,  holding  an  echo  as  if 
caught  in  the  far  spaces  of  Heaven,  — 
to  knit  it  with  the  revelation  of  the  hour. 

Outside  he  found  the  dusk  and  the  icy 
air.  There  was  a  medley  of  cold  colors 
in  the  sky,  the  solemn  night  was  near, 


136          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

the  avenue  veiled  in  gray.  He  hurried 
on,  feeling  a  new  happiness  tempered 
by  the  pain  of  uncertainty.  Questions 
troubled  him.  Was  this  really  love? 
Was  his  hand  upon  the  string  from 
which  so  many  marvellous  strains  and 
pitiful  discords  had  been  struck? 

He  had  always  calmly  and  remotely 
contemplated  the  rounding  of  his  life 
with  a  great  love,  but  something  in  him 
had  heretofore  disdained  sentiment.  At 
its  best  it  had  seemed  a  majestic  weak- 
ness, commonly  only  a  ridiculous  thing. 
He  had  known  perfect  friendship,  but 
the  love  he  had  seen  make  fools  of  the 
wise,  turn  the  flow  of  a  life  completely 
out  of  its  course,  had  seemed  as  removed 
from  him  as  insanity  —  until  to-night. 

He  still  felt  the  touch  of  Olga's  body, 
the  violet's  perfume  no  sweeter  than 
her  breath. 

"  Only  to  live  as  once  on  earth, 
With  love  •   •  •  " 

"  As  once  on  earth ! "  There  was  rapt- 
urous memory  of  a  joy  he  had  never 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          137 

known  in  those  words.  Their  burden 
of  passionate  melody  went  with  him 
like  the  voice  of  conscience.  He  saw 
only  Olga's  inviting  eyes. 


Chapter  XII 

DAVID  loitered  over  his  after-din- 
ner coffee.  Though  expected  at 
the  office,  a  disinclination  to  enter  the 
world  of  prose  and  machinery  mastered 
him.  He  was  in  a  relaxed  and  fanciful 
mood.  He  sat  by  the  club  window, 
conscious  of  the  shadows  flitting  under 
the  lamps,  listening  to  the  street  sounds. 
He  talked  with  those  about  him  on 
social  happenings  and  politics,  but  al- 
ways, no  matter  what  was  said,  felt  a 
fine  disregard  of  it  all,  because  the 
glamour  of  the  afternoon  was  with  him 
still  and  his  deeper  thought  was  of 
that  alone. 

"  I'd  love  to  hear  Anne  sing  a  ballad 
to-night,"  he  thought,  as  he  went  down 
the  steps,  a  cigar  between  his  lips.  "  I 
wonder  if  she's  at  home.  She  can't  be 
off  with  Donald  anywhere,  for  he  wasn't 
138 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          139 

in  town  to-day-  I'll  see  if  she's  in,  at 
any  rate.  The  walk  down  the  lower 
part  of  the  avenue  and  across  Washing- 
ton square  will  be  glorious  on  a  night 
like  this." 

David  was  in  a  mood  when  a  man  is 
his  own  historian,  and  reads  the  facts  of 
a  life  with  pleasure  or  a  sense  of  failure 
according  to  the  truth  in  that  intimate, 
unpublished  record.  He  saw  none  of 
the  passers-by,  was  only  half  conscious 
of  the  frost  and  the  gas-lit  streets.  He 
was  regarding  his  years  from  boyhood, 
and  measuring  the  completeness  of  his 
present  by  his  use  of  opportunities. 

It  was  a  comfortable  revery.  He 
had  nothing  to  regret.  The  death  of  his 
father  had  been  his  only  grief,  soon 
lived  down  in  the  fulness  of  ambition 
and  independent  wealth.  No  shadow 
lurked  in  his  past.  He  had  experi- 
mented with  "  the  world,  the  flesh,  and 
the  devil,"  but  had  formed  no  ignoble 
ties.  He  had  splendid  health,  invinci- 
ble will,  limitless  desire  for  success  in 
whatever  he  touched,  clean  years  be- 


140          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

hind  him,  a  shadowless  future.  Sup- 
pose he  married?  A  picture  rose  be- 
fore him  as  inviting  in  its  way  as  the 
others  of  the  group.  Why  not?  A 
woman,  gentle,  beautiful,  sympathetic, 
reflecting  him,  sharing  his  life,  children 
in  his  home,  their  future  to  be  laid  and 
finished  when  his  own  life  was  practi- 
cally over. 

His  heart  glowed;  a  spirit  singing  of 
triumph  went  with  him. 

Very  soon  —  for  he  walked  quickly — 
he  had  crossed  the  almost  empty  square 
to  the  street  where  Anne  lived.  Her 
sympathy  meant  much  to  him  since  he 
wished  urgently  for  her  to-night,  as  if 
she  would  divine  the  power  of  the  new 
dream  possessing  him  and  all  his  secret 
thoughts.  He  might  lead  her  on  to  talk 
to  him  about  Olga. 

As  he  went  toward  the  house  his  eyes 
were  fastened  on  her  windows.  He  was 
not  aware  that  a  man  had  come  down 
the  garden  path,  and  having  opened 
the  gate  stood  watching  him.  But 
when  his  eyes  became  accustomed  to 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          141 

the  shadow  he  saw  Donald's  face  under 
the  low-drawn  hat.  It  was  almost  un- 
familiar, haggard,  of  a  sick  pallor,  the 
old  curse  with  a  new  shame  upon  it. 

David  looked  at  him  in  silence.  The 
leniency  of  secret  brotherhood  between 
them  had  lately  influenced  his  inward 
attitude  toward  Donald,  and  there  was 
an  elder  brother's  scrutiny  and  im- 
patience in  the  look  he  fixed  upon 
him. 

"  When  I  sent  for  you  this  morning, 
Donald,  I  heard  you  hadn't  been  home 
for  three  days,"  he  said  gravely.  "  I 
thought  you'd  gone  to  the  lightship  to 
make  the  pictures  for  Arnold's  story, 
though  next  week  would  have  done  for 
that.  Did  you  go  ?  " 

Donald  drew  back  into  the  path,  the 
light  of  the  street-lamp  upon  him.  He 
seemed  to  age.  He  lifted  his  hands 
and  let  them  fall  heavily. 

"  No,  I  didn't.  I  meant  to  go.  I  — 
Well,  you  see  how  it's  been  with  me," 
he  said  bluntly. 

"You've  been  drinking  again." 


142          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

"  You've  hit  it.     Going  at  the  devil's 
pace." 

It  was  the  apathetic  admission  of  one 
vanquished. 

David  had  always  thought  of  him 
with  impatience  as  one  deliberately  bad, 
seeking  the  congenial  though  it  meant 
wreckage,  and  he  had  mentally  washed 
his  hands  of  him  long  ago.  Just  because 
he  was  a  brother  and  dependent  he  had 
retained  him  on  the  "  Citizen  "  despite 
his  lapses,  paying  him  for  what  work  he 
handed  in,  never  questioning  him,  let- 
ting him  entirely  alone.  He  had  always 
viewed  two  things  as  hopeless  —  a 
woman  with  a  hobby,  a  man  with  a 
vice.  There  was  no  lasting  virtue  in 
reformation.  He  had  seen  so  many 
failures,  even  when  men  and  women 
hungered  for  the  good  they  were  not 
strong  enough  to  grasp.  And  now 
Donald  —  the  old  story!  It  was  a  pity. 
The  years  behind  him  were  his  future 
temptation.  There  is  shock  in  a  fall, 
but  a  step  to  familiar  conditions  is  easy 
enough. 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          143 

He  fingered  his  cigar  uneasily,  almost 
at  a  loss  for  words. 

"  I'm  sorry  you  were  weak,  Donald," 
and  the  words,  despite  his  effort,  had  a 
flat,  stereotyped  ring,  "  but  you  mustn't 
fancy  it's  hopeless.  You  must  just  be- 
gin the  battle  over  again." 

Donald's  eyes  fell,  a  faint  smile  played 
over  his  face. 

"  So  she  said,"  and  he  looked  up 
shrinkingly  at  Anne's  window.  "  She 
can't  save  me;  no  one  can  except 
myself.  I  must  save  myself.  That's 
what  she  said  when  she  sent  me 
away  to-night — I  must  save  myself.  I 
tried  before — I  was  so  sure  —  so  sure 
—  so  happy.  But  when  temptation  got 
to  a  climax  it  was  like  a  paper  house 
trying  to  get  the  better  of  a  flame.  You 
wouldn't  bet  on  the  paper  house,  would 
you?"  he  said  sharply. 

"  Get  away  from  the  flame." 

"  Suppose  you  carry  it  with  you  night 
and  day,  night  and  day,  here,  here, 
here?"  he  called  out,  his  hand  tight 
upon  his  breast. 


144          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

His  expression  changed  to  stolid 
gloom,  and  he  looked  past  David. 

"  Only  for  her  I'd  give  it  all  up  and 
go  to  the  devil  without  a  regret.  I 
didn't  mind  so  much  before  I  knew  her. 
Now  when  I  know  what  a  poor  thing  I 
am,  why  can't  I  forget  that  she  cares 
what  happens  to  me,  go  away,  quench 
this  damnable  torture  by  satisfying  it  — 
and  die,  the  sooner  the  better?  Why 
can't  I  do  it?"  and  his  voice  rose  and 
quivered,  but  sank  again  to  a  whisper. 
"  I  can't.  I  can't.  No  one  else  cares  a 
hang  what  becomes  of  me,  but  as  long 
as  she  cares  I've  got  to  try  in  spite  of 
myself.  I've  got  to  try,  and  suffer,  and 
deserve  a  little  her  belief  in  me." 

He  laid  his  arm  along  the  icy  bars 
and  let  his  head  fall  upon  it.  David 
thought  of  his  late  self-congratulation, 
the  contented  review  of  his  life,  and  the 
sight  of  this  tormented  soul  was  terrible. 

"  Look  here,  Donald,  this  is  all  non- 
sense. You  mustn't  take  this  lapse 
so  seriously.  You  must  forget  it  and 
start  anew,"  and  he  pulled  at  the 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          145 

bent  shoulder,  his  tone  encouraging. 
"  That's  what  you  must  do.  And  you 
mustn't  think  no  one  cares  but  Anne," 
he  added  softly,  his  hand  tightening 
where  it  lay.  "I  care  very  much." 

"You?" 

Donald  lifted  his  head  and  looked 
steadily  at  David. 

"  Yes,  I.  Don't  forget  that.  No  one 
was  more  glad  than  I  when  you  started 
in  to  make  something  of  yourself.  I 
pity  you  now.  By  and  by  I  want  to  be 
proud  of  you.  Don't  say  you  have  no 
friend  but  Anne  Garrick.  I  hope  you'll 
deserve  her  good  opinion.  But  re- 
member I  count  on  you,  too.  I  will  do 
anything  in  the  world  to  help  you. 
Don't  you  believe  it?" 

He  held  out  his  hand.  Donald 
looked  at  it,  but  did  not  stir.  There 
was  almost  irresistible  magnetism  in 
David's  kindling  eyes,  and  Donald  had 
always  stealthily  loved  him.  But  he 
could  not  touch  the  proffered  hand, 
much  as  he- longed  to.  It  would  be 
renouncing  too  sweet  a  revenge. 


146          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

"  Won't  you  take  my  hand  ?  " 

"No,"  he  said  insolently.  "What 
have  you  ever  been  to  me  that  I  should 
flatter  this  poetic  impulse  of  yours  — 
this  impulse  now  —  that  means  noth- 
ing?" 

Chagrin  and  uneasiness  seized  David; 
his  hand  fell. 

"  I'm  sincere.     What  do  you  mean?" 

"You  care  what  becomes  of  me? 
You  care  for  my  contemptible  exist- 
ence? You?" 

He  stood  erect,  buttoning  his  coat 
tightly  across  his  breast,  his  eyes  brill- 
iant and  dry. 

"You  seem  sceptical,"  and  David's 
tone  was  uncertain  in  a  way  most  un- 
usual for  him.  "Believe  it  or  not,  I'm 
ready  to  help  you  now  or  at  any  time." 

"  Oh,  are  you  ?  "  said  Donald  slowly, 
nodding  his  head.  "  Your  generosity 
comes  too  late.  This  is  a  strange  place 
to  have  this  matter  out  between  us.  I 
never  supposed  I'd  speak  of  myself  to 
you,  but  I'm  not  myself  to-night.  You, 
too,  seem  to  have  undergone  a  wonder- 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          147 

ful  change.  The  words  you  speak  are 
unfamiliar.  Why  didn't  you  say  years 
ago  what  you've  said  to-night?  Did 
you  ever  think  of  the  difference  between 
us  —  what  love  and  care  can  make  of  a 
boy,  what  scorn  and  intolerance  can 
make  of  him  ?  There  were  nights  when 
I  thought  I'd  go  mad  from  sheer  loneli- 
ness, and  you,  full  of  your  schemes  and 
pleasures,  never  gave  me  a  thought. 
My  heart  starved  for  sympathy,  but  I 
couldn't  get  near  you.  Don't  let  me 
think  of  those  days  before  I  had  learned 
to  say,  i  I  don't  care,'  and  when  you 
could  have  helped  me.  Don't  let  me 
think  of  them." 

He  brushed  past  David  and  pulled 
open  the  gate. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  Donald.  What  you 
say  requires  an  answer.  Listen  to  me. 
You  forget  circumstances  made  it 
almost  impossible  for  us  to  be  friends. 
My  father's  unhappiness  with  your 
mother,  his  dislike  of  you  —  cruelly  un- 
just, I  admit "  — 

"  I  was  his  sin."     And  a  sneer  made 


148          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

Donald  ugly  for  a  moment.  "  His  eyes 
couldn't  bear  to  light  on  me.  The  sight 
of  me  turned  him  sick,  and  made  him 
nose  for  comfort  among  the  Psalms 
telling  of  King  David's  repentance.  I 
was  his  materialized  sin,  and  he 
scourged  me.  You  know  that." 

"Yes;  but  there,  don't  let  us  go  into 
that  miserable  business!  I'm  only  try- 
ing to  defend  myself.  The  injustice  of 
those  days  wasn't  my  fault." 

"  And  after  John  Temple  died,  was 
there  any  difference?  You  gave  me 
work,  but  I  was  nothing  to  you.  For 
eight  years  I've  been  busy  at  slow  homi- 
cide, strangling  whatever  was  good  in 
me.  You  said  nothing.  You  didn't  tell 
me  then  to  brace  up  and  make  some- 
thing of  myself.  Now"  —  and  the 
words  were  a  cry  of  anguish  —  "I 
seem  to  have  a  malformed  soul  unfit 
for  struggle.  It's  like  entering  a  cripple 
against  a  giant.  Once  what  wouldn't  I 
have  given  to  have  felt  you  really  cared ! 
Think  what  it  would  have  been  to  me! 
I  was  without  a  friend,  as  ready  for  evil 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          149 

as  a  laid  powder-trail  is  for  a  match. 
If  you'd  spoken  then  as  you  did  to- 
night "  —  he  paused,  looking  away  from 
David.  "You  didn't.  You  offer  your 
encouraging  words  now.  They're  use- 
less, and  I  refuse  them." 

He  closed  the  gate  sharply,  and 
David  watched  him  down  the  street. 
There  was  a  sick  sense  of  guilt  at  his 
heart.  For  the  first  time  he  faced  the 
truth.  He  saw  himself  wrapped  in 
egotism,  living  for  personal  success, 
never  thinking  of  the  want  in  Donald's 
life.  He  had  always  known  he  was  cold, 
practical,  stern,  apt  to  view  the  failures 
of  life  with  impatience,  the  road  to  his 
heart  a  narrow  one  beset  by  roughnesses ; 
but  to  realize  he  had  been  cruel  too, 
and  that  the  remorseful  soul  he  had 
faced  to-night  was  in  some  degree  a 
result  of  his  self-absorption,  was  a  new 
and  hateful  fact.  Even  this  present  con- 
sideration for  Donald  had  been  selfish. 
His  own  unqualified  content  had  made 
him  kind,  as  an  over-full  glass  must 
waste  some  of  its  wine. 


150          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

On  leaving  the  club  he  had  looked 
forward  to  a  cosey  hour  with  Anne, 
when  he  might  have  led  her  to  talk 
about  her  cousin;  but  he  had  been 
roused  to  something  sterner,  to  face  a 
delayed  duty,  and  when  he  did  anything 
he  did  it  well. 

Anne  was  writing  when  he  went  into 
the  sitting-room. 

"  I  met  Donald  at  the  gate,"  were  his 
first  words,  and  he  noticed  a  look  of 
anxiety  pass  over  her  face. 

"  Were  you  speaking  to  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we  had  it  out.  Curious,  wasn't 
it,  after  all  these  years  to  know  for  the 
first  time  the  real  Donald  at  your  gar- 
den gate  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  hard  on  him,"  she  said 
clearly,  standing  up. 

An  expression  of  defiance  in  her  eyes 
added  to  his  self-reproach.  He  looked 
at  her  thoughtfully. 

"  I  must  have  seemed  a  brute  to  you. 
Sit  down  by  me  here,  Anne,  and  help 
me  a  little.  I've  always  been  so  obedi- 
ent to  my  conscience  that  it  has  never 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          151 

been  a  nuisance.  Well,  to-night  it 
stings  me  like  a  fretful  woman,  and  I 
must  silence  it,"  he  said  bitterly.  "  Pm 
going  to  do  something  for  Donald.  I've 
a  scheme  I  think  would  save  him.  I'm 
going  to  help  him  with  all  my  heart." 

"You  will?" 

"  With  all  my  heart." 

"  Oh,  yes!  "  she  said,  seizing  David's 
hand,  her  love  for  him  rushing  over 
her.  "  He's  done  all  he  could  to  ruin 
his  life,  but  you'll  help  him  to  value  it 
now.  You're  so  good  !  " 


Chapter  XIII 

MRS.  ERICSSON  fluttered  into  the 
green  and  white  room  and  stood 
before  Olga.  She  looked  like  a  quiver- 
ing interrogation-mark. 

"  Why  won't  you  go  to  see  Irving 
with  the  Kents?  The  invitation  has 
come  at  the  last  moment,  but  you  know 
they  got  the  box  unexpectedly,  so  you 
needn't  fancy  you've  been  asked  just 
to  fill  in." 

She  surveyed  Olga  with  pleading 
eyes  and  irritated  air.  Never  had  she 
seemed  so  purposely  provoking  as  now, 
lying  before  the  window  in  a  steamer 
chair,  calm,  attentive,  and  polite. 

"I'm  not  going,  dear,"  said  Olga, 
settling  herself  at  an  angle  which 
brought  added  comfort  and  turning  the 
fashion  magazine  she  had  been  reading 
face  downward  on  her  knee,  "  because 
152 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          153 

I'm  lazy,  because  this  dry  cold  makes 
my  nose  an  ugly  magenta  "  — 

"  You  have  furs  "  — 

"Because  I  hate  the  theatre  in  the 
daytime,  am  sick  to  death  of  Mrs.  Kent 
and  her  knobby-headed  son  "  — 

"  Olga,  you'll  simply  drive  me  dis- 
tracted by  your  indifference." 

"And  because  David  Temple  is  com- 
ing at  five  o'clock." 

"  Oh,"  with  a  comprehensive  gasp, 
"is  he?" 

"  I  asked  him  in  last  night." 

Mrs.  Ericsson  dropped  into  a  chair 
and  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap. 

"  Olga,"  she  said  seriously,  "  for  the 
past  month,  ever  since  Smedley  Joyce's 
tea,  he  has  been  following  you  about. 
You've  encouraged  him,  whether  for 
fun,  as  you  call  it,  or  not  I  don't  know. 
But  people  say  David  Temple  is  not  a 
marrying  man  and  to  have  him  loom  up 
like  your  shadow  wherever  you  go  will 
hurt  your  chances.  It  certainly  will." 

"  Think  so  ?  "  and  Olga  drew  a  loose 
strand  of  hair  through  her  fingers. 


154          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

"  I  know  it.  You're  very  perverse. 
There's  Bob  Deschalles  making  a  fool  of 
himself  over  you,  a  man  with  one  of 
the  largest  fortunes  "  — 

"  And  a  fool.  I'm  not  exacting  when 
millions  are  appended,  but  I  draw  the 
line  at  him.  Don't  talk  of  him  any 
more." 

She  looked  fully  at  her  mother  with 
open  criticism. 

"  How  little  you  understand  me.  If 
you  knew  anything  of  character,  you'd 
have  seen  long  ago  I  must  be  proud  of 
the  man  I  marry.  I  need  not  care  a  pin 
for  him,  but  because  of  brains,  family 
or  personality  with  wealth,  I  must  re- 
gard him  as  a  prize  and  have  other 
women  envy  me.  D'ye  see?  Now 
who'd  envy  me  Bob  Deschalles  —  who 
under  heaven?" 

She  gave  a  conclusive  shrug  and  re- 
turned to  the  magazine.  Her  mother 
looked  at  her  and  sighed  impatiently. 

"Well,  about  David  Temple?"  she 
said  sharply. 

"  And  what  about  him  ?    He's  coming 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          155 

at  five.  I'm  going  to  pour  tea  for  him, 
which  he'll  pretend  to  drink.  I'll  see 
he  thinks  me  beautiful,  which  I  am,  as 
well  as  a  great  many  other  things  which 
I'm  not." 

"  You  know  well  enough  what  I 
mean,  Olga.  You  can  be  so  provoking. 
Why  don't  you  answer  me  ?  " 

"  You  haven't  asked  me  anything." 

"  Does  he  mean  anything  ?  "  she  asked 
angrily. 

"  Yes,  he  means  everything." 

"Has  he  said  anything?"  And  a 
look  of  rapacity  made  Mrs.  Ericsson's 
eyes  gleam. 

"  Not  exactly." 

"  Then  how  can  you  tell  ?  You  only 
think  so.  You've  thought  so  before  and 
been  mistaken." 

"  I  feel  it." 

"  And  you'd  marry  him?  " 

"Why  not?  I've  used  my  eyes  to 
good  advantage,  mamma,  though  I 
haven't  seemed  to  see  much.  Women 
have  stopped  running  after  David  Tem- 
ple because  he's  been  given  up  as 


156          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

hopeless.  Suppose  I  win  him?  If  any 
have  doubted  my  power  they'll  doubt 
no  more.  Besides,  he  inspires  a  deli- 
cious sense  of  fear  in  me.  As  for  what 
he  is," — and  she  extended  her  hands, 
—  "  show  me  anything  better.  He's 
rich.  The  position  he  holds  at  the  head 
of  the  '  Citizen,'  representing  its  brains 
and  money,  is  the  nearest  thing  to  a 
title  to  be  had  in  this  country.  More 
than  this,  he's  ambitious,  and  he'll  keep 
advancing.  He  may  go  into  politics,  be 
the  President  —  who  knows  ?  —  and  I'll 
make  things  hum  at  the  White  House.'' 
She  rose  and  in  passing  her  mother 
drew  her  hand  teasingly  down  her  small, 
worried  face,  flattening  the  nose.  "  How 
would  you  look,  dear,  between  two 
foreign  diplomats  at  a  state  dinner? 
Just  like  a  pussy-cat,"  she  laughed 
merrily.  "  And  how  would  it  like  to 
look  like  a  pussy-cat?" 

"Don't  be  childish,  Olga."  Mrs. 
Ericsson  rearranged  her  nose  and  stood 
up  testily.  "You've  evidently  made  up 
your  mind.  Well,  I'll  be  glad  when 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          157 

it's  settled  and  the  strain  of  keeping  up 
appearances  is  over." 

"  If  you  only  wouldn't  worry,"  said 
Olga  placidly. 

"  Not  worry?  "  flashed  Mrs.  Ericsson 
from  the  doorway.  "  And  where  would 
you  be  and  how  would  things  be  with 
you  to-day  if  I  didn't  worry  to  find  some 
way  of  making  ends  meet?  I'll  say 
'  Thank  God '  when  it's  ended." 

"And  I'll  say  'Amen,'"  said  Olga, 
with  more  emphasis  than  was  usual 
with  her. 


Chapter  XIV 

AT  eight  o'clock  it  was  snowing 
wildly.  The  city  was  like  the 
wraith  of  what  it  had  been  in  the  morn- 
ing hours.  Foot-marks  were  wiped  out 
as  soon  as  made,  and  the  whirl  of  the 
storm  filled  the  town  with  excitement. 

The  bell  in  David  Temple's  office 
was  rung  sharply. 

"  I  didn't  know  Mr.  Temple'd  come 
back,"  said  Pete  in  dismay,  sliding  the 
latest  dime  novel  under  a  box. 

While  fastening  her  veil  Anne 
listened  for  David's  voice.  His  steady, 
unaccented  tones  came  clearly  to  her. 
He  had  returned  and  entered  his  pri- 
vate office  without  passing  through  the 
editorial  rooms.  A  moment  later  he 
came  in. 

"I  thought  you'd  be  gone,"  he  said, 
pausing  beside  her.  His  eyes  were 
158 


A  Circle  in  the   Sand  159 

unusually  bright,  a  cool  color  from  the 
storm  was  on  his  cheeks.  "  I'm  going 
out  again  in  a  moment  and  will  go  up 
town  with  you.  I  just  came  down  to 
see  Farley,"  and  he  crossed  to  the 
night  editor's  desk. 

Ten  minutes  later  they  were  on  the 
streets  together.  The  snow  stung  their 
faces,  settled  like  a  mantle  over  them, 
and  in  capricious  skeins  half  hid  the 
blinking  eyes  of  the  crowd  they  passed 
through.  Shivering  newsboys  blew  on 
their  fingers,  crouching  under  the  stairs 
of  the  elevated  road,  and  white-capped 
tamale  men,  presiding  over  their  copper 
cans  like  magicians  over  a  flame,  sent 
their  rolling  cry  from  the  shelter  of 
doorways. 

The  trains  were  crowded  at  that 
hour.  It  was  necessary  for  Anne  to 
take  a  seat  far  from  where  David  stood, 
and  she  could  only  see  his  big  shoulders 
beyond  an  intervening  dozen.  By  the 
time  her  gate  came  in  sight  after  a 
difficult  walk,  the  storm  had  reached 
crescendo  and  they  were  breathless. 


160          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

"  Come  up  to  the  fire  for  a  moment," 
said  Anne. 

"  But  you  haven't  dined  ?  " 

"  Hours  ago.  It's  almost  nine.  Come 
in.  I've  seen  nothing  of  you  for  a 
week." 

"Just  for  a  moment,  then,  if  I  may. 
Besides,  I  want  to  speak  to  you  of 
Donald." 

And  it  was  of  Donald  they  talked, 
yet  something  in  David's  tone  thrilled 
and  bewildered  Anne.  He  had  been 
successful  in  his  interview  with  Donald 
Sefain,  had  flung  the  first  plank  across 
the  chasm  between  them.  But  content 
for  that  did  not  explain  the  light  in  his 
face,  the  passionate  air  in  his  whole 
presence.  He  seemed  revelling  in  un- 
expressed exultation.  With  a  foolish 
stirring  of  the  heart  Anne  was  con- 
scious of  it,  and  waited. 

As  he  talked  he  leaned  back  with 
eyes  half  closed.  The  pose  forcibly  re- 
called the  first  day  she  saw  him,  when 
he  had  tried  to  prevent  her  becom- 
ing a  newspaper  woman,  —  the  flung- 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          161 

back  shoulder  and  half-closed  eye,  the 
loosened  lock  of  hair  clinging  to  the 
forehead  and  giving  a  boyish  touch  to 
his  face.  Then  he  was  a  stranger,  treat- 
ing her  like  a  too  ambitious  child.  Now 
he  was  David,  so  familiar,  so  well  un- 
derstood he  was  like  another  self,  and 
she  loved  him. 

There  was  fright  in  this  last  thought 
to-night.  She  seemed  wild  and  strong, 
but  chained  by  one  invisible  thread  of 
her  own  making.  While  she  listened 
to  David  she  found  herself  endeavoring 
to  explain  to  her  pride  the  voluntary 
surrender  of  her  heart  to  this  man  who 
did  not  and  might  never  love  her. 

From  this  her  thoughts  drifted  to 
the  optimism  in  natural  selection,  and 
that  it  might  be  unreciprocated.  After 
all,  she  was  only  following  an  old  law. 
Other  women  had  impulsively  and  si- 
lently loved  men  whose  hearts  had 
been  closed  to  them. 

She  knew  that  David  was  indiffer- 
ent. He  permitted  few  people  an  ac- 
quaintance with  his  intimate  self.  He 


162          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

sought  none.  Yet  no  man  had  more 
friends.  Pete  in  the  office,  to  whom 
from  sheer  unconcern  he  had  never 
spoken  a  kind  word,  felt  privileged  in 
some  mysterious  way  when  commis- 
sioned to  carry  home  a  parcel  for  him. 
Donald,  in  spite  of  the  untoward  cir- 
cumstances of  their  lives,  loved  him 
with  all  his  heart.  It  was  not  strange, 
then,  since  David  Temple  was  a  man 
whose  magnetism  was  a  positive  posses- 
sion, who  owned  the  passive  supremacy 
which  steals  from  the  recorded  lives  of 
Napoleon  and  Dean  Swift,  that  one 
woman  should  have  come  still  nearer 
to  him  uninvited.  She  seemed  defend- 
ing her  weakness  before  an  invisible 
jury,  and  was  acquitted. 

"A  splendid  chance,"  David  was 
saying  when  she  gave  him  her  undi- 
vided attention  again;  "a  chance  not 
to  be  had  every  day.  The  partnership 
can  be  his  for  an  absurdly  small 
amount,  you  know,  because  the  Eng- 
lishman who  is  cutting  it  all  sickened 
in  the  climate  and  wants  to  get  home. 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          163 

But  Donald,  assisted  by  the  good  busi- 
ness men  still  in  the  company,  could 
make  it  pay.  In  Brazil"  — 

"  Brazil  ?  He'll  have  to  go  to  Brazil  ?  " 
she  said  uncertainly. 

"  You  haven't  been  listening  to  me." 
And  David  leaned  toward  her.  "  Where 
do  you  suppose  they  grow  coffee,  Anne, 
—  on  Staten  Island  ?  Really,"  he  said 
urgently,  "  nothing  will  help  Donald 
like  getting  away  from  New  York.  If 
it's  hard  to  cut  the  old  associations 
here,  it  will  be  just  as  hard  to  form  new 
ones  there.  At  first  he  would  not  listen 
to  me,  would  not  let  me  lend  him  the 
necessary  money.  It  was  a  struggle 
between  us,  and  I  assure  you,  Anne,  I 
humiliated  myself  to  him." 

"  Does  he  want  to  go  now  ?  " 

"  He  wants  to  try  —  glad  even  to 
stop  sketching  for  a  while.  It  need  only 
be  for  a  few  years.  He  will  give  up 
brain  work  and  uncertain  hours  for  a 
life  demanding  physical  energy  and 
systematic  habits.  Did  I  tell  you,"  he 
said  more  softly,  "he's  to  let  me  send 


164          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

his  -proiigi,  Joe  Evans,  to  my  old  nurse 
in  Connecticut?  The  climate  down 
there  would  finish  the  little  chap  in  a 
wink."  He  started  up  and  took  a  few 
steps  up  and  down.  "  I  never  can  for- 
get my  visit  to  his  rooms  the  other  night, 
and  the  sight  of  the  sick  boy  there. 
Donald  is  a  queer  mixture  of  good  and 
bad,  isn't  he  ?  He's  done  what  I  never 
could  do,  been  vicious  as  I  never  could 
be,  but  he's  made  life  a  heaven  for  one 
creature,  urged  to  it  by  a  humanity 
which  I  scarcely  understand." 

He  stood  before  the  fire  and  stared 
into  it.  There  was  a  line  between  his 
brows,  his  glance  was  heavy,  and  Anne 
knew  he  was  thinking  of  himself  and 
what  he  lacked  as  perhaps  he  never  had 
before.  He  sighed  and  moved  so  that 
his  elbow  rested  on  the  mantel.  When 
he  looked  down  at  Anne,  she  saw  again 
the  light  as  from  a  heart  satisfied  which 
before  had  puzzled  her. 

"  Anne,"  he  said,  in  a  musing  way, 
"do  I  seem  unlike  myself  to-night?  " 

She  nodded.  She  could  not  move 
her  eyes  from  his. 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          165 

"  But  do  I  look  like  a  man  who  has 
come  into  a  rare  inheritance?  Do  I? 
Yes,  yes,"  he  said  quickly.  "  I  want  to 
tell  you.  You  have  been  so  much  to 
me,  I  must  tell  you  now." 

He  took  the  chair  opposite  her  and 
again  leaned  forward.  Anne  sat  mo- 
tionless, a  heavy  coldness  weighting  her. 

"  Look  at  me.  I  am  in  love  at  last, 
as  unreasonably,  as  hopefully,  as  if  I 
were  twenty-two." 

There  was  a  second's  pause.  To 
Anne  it  was  the  ray  between  aspiration 
and  chaos,  all  that  was  possible  and 
what  could  never  be. 

"  I  told  Olga  to-day  I  loved  her, 
Anne,  and  she  is  going  to  marry  me. 
You  and  I  will  be  relatives  soon,"  he 
said  gayly,  and  pressed  her  hand. 

There  was  nothing  to  tell  him  that 
she  was  cold  and  in  darkness.  She  re- 
mained apparently  quiet  while  her  heart 
seemed  cloven  by  a  sword.  She  said 
everything  he  expected  of  her,  some 
of  the  phrases  quite  prettily,  too.  She 
even  laughed  while  the  mirth  was  dust 


1 66          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

on  her  lip  and  David  unreal  and  terrible 
to  her. 

After  a  long  time  he  went  away,  and 
she  sat  like  a  dead  woman,  yet  curi- 
ously, painfully  alive  to  one  thought: 
she  had  loved  him,  and  he  had  passed 
her  by;  Olga  had  won  her  happiness. 
The  apathy  left  her,  and  she  sprang  up, 
her  eyes  suddenly  wild.  She  hated 
Olga  and  envied  her  bitterly,  but  only 
for  a  moment.  Through  all  her  pain 
she  recognized  an  unquestionable  fatal- 
ity. The  reason  of  her  failure  to  draw 
to  herself  the  man  she  loved  lay  some- 
where at  the  large  root  of  things,  in 
darkness,  beyond  the  knowing.  Olga's 
success  was  just  as  inexplicable  and 
impersonal.  The  bitter  fact  she  could 
face  and  must  accept,  but  nothing  else. 

Unconscious  of  time,  she  sat  still  un- 
til voices  in  the  hall  and  a  knock  at  the 
door  seemed  to  come  from  a  long  dis- 
tance. Nora,  half  asleep,  entered  with 
a  letter.  A  messenger  boy  in  the  hall 
was  rubbing  his  ears  with  his  mittened 
hands. 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          167 

Anne  opened  the  envelope  without 
curiosity,  but  the  words  aroused  her, 
and  pity  for  something  besides  herself 
passed  over  her  face. 

MY  DEAR  ANNE  :  Can  you  come  to  my  place 
as  soon  as  you  read  this?  I'm  afraid  it's  all  up 
with  poor  Joe,  and  he  keeps  talking  of  you.  Do 
come  with  the  messenger.  He  won't  live  through 
the  night.  I  dare  not  leave  his  side. 

DONALD. 

Anne  looked  at  the  clock.  It  was 
after  eleven.  She  heard  the  wind 
shake  the  window  in  fury,  she  saw  the 
snow  moved  like  a  tremendous  curtain 
westward,  and  a  groaning  stole  in  from 
the  night.  The  silent  room  became 
suddenly  unendurable. 

When  she  stepped  from  her  doorway 
with  the  boy,  the  wind,  as  if  recogniz- 
ing her  affinity  by  reason  of  the  storm 
in  her  soul,  welcomed  her  with  frenzy. 
There  was  relief  in  bending  her  head 
against  the  blast,  in  feeling  the  flakes 
sting  her  face  to  burning  life;  the  sense 
of  being  needed  had  comfort  in  it,  and 


1 68          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

the  purpose  of  her  errand  surmounted 
for  the  time  the  other  dull,  insistent 
ache. 

The  street  where  Donald  lived  was 
in  the  heart  of  the  business  centre, 
and  mournfully  quiet.  The  lights  in 
high  tenements  and  old-fashioned  lodg- 
ing-houses flickered  on  lonely  stretches 
of  snow,  traffic  was  muffled,  and  people 
passed  as  if  with  velvet-shod  feet. 

Anne  dismissed  the  messenger  at 
Donald's  door,  and  entered  alone. 
From  the  many  small  apartments  came 
sounds  of  the  life  within.  Through 
one  open  transom  where  tobacco-smoke 
curled  she  heard  a  German's  voice, 
raised  in  argument,  roll  out,  "  Bis- 
marck ! "  In  another  room  a  girl  was 
laughing  unrestrainedly.  Farther  away 
the  reiterations  of  a  banjo  were  like 
punctuations  on  the  silence. 

The  meaning  of  her  presence  there 
struck  Anne  afresh  and  sharply.  One 
room  of  this  big  house  was  silent,  set 
apart,  although  no  signet-mark  of  blood 
showed  on  the  door.  Joe,  the  wan 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          169 

picker-boy,  had  become  a  personage 
with  all  preparations  made  for  a  myste- 
rious and  final  journey,  and  she  had 
come  to  bid  him  an  impressive  farewell. 
At  the  head  of  the  stairs  she  paused.  A 
dread  of  the  room  beyond  and  the  scene 
to  follow  came  upon  her,  and  she  half 
turned  away. 

But  Mrs.  Mulligan  came  down  the 
hall,  and  under  the  unsheltered  gaslight 
Anne  saw  the  resigned  sorrow  of  the 
old  on  her  face. 

"  It's  ye,  acushla,"  she  said,  with  a 
long  sigh.  "Well,  poor  Joe's  gone." 

She  opened  the  door,  showing  the  dim 
room,  Donald  at  the  window,  his  head 
bowed,  and  Joe's  spent  body  outlined 
on  the  bed  in  majestic  and  eternal  quiet. 

Donald  turned  and  came  quickly  to 
Anne's  side.  He  held  her  hand  in 
silence  for  a  moment. 

"I  suppose  I  shouldn't  have  asked 
you  to  come,"  he  said,  lifting  the  snowy 
cloak  from  her  shoulders,  "  but  Joe 
wanted  you.  Only  a  few  moments  af- 
ter the  messenger  had  gone,  he  died." 


170          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

There  was  a  defiant,  unhappy  smile  on 
his  lips.  "  His  reprieve  was  short-lived, 
wasn't  it?  And  I  had  meant  to  make 
him  happy.  I  was  not  permitted,  you 
see.  Perhaps  I  was  not  fit." 

"  Don't  —  don't  —  Donald  "  —  And 
Anne,  unable  to  say  more,  sat  down 
beside  the  bed. 

The  room  was  silent.  Mrs.  Mulligan 
had  stopped  the  clock,  and  the  hands 
pointed  to  the  last  moment  of  Joe's  life. 
The  old  woman  who  had  so  sincerely 
loved  the  waif  drew  the  cloth  to  the 
sharp  chin  and  stood  like  a  figure  of 
Fate,  drearily  nodding.  The  boy's  face 
wore  the  look  of  fixed  appeal  with 
which  the  dead  can  disarm  even  hate. 

"  A  wild  night  to  die !  "  sighed  Mrs. 
Mulligan,  striking  her  palms  softly  to- 
gether. "  He  was  a  small  gossoon  to  go 
so  far  alone.  Poor  Joe!  Ye'll  never 
hould  me  yarn  for  me  again.  I'll  miss 
ye,  'cushla,  sore  I'll  miss  ye."  Break- 
ing into  sobs,  she  went  out. 

"  Anne,  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

The  words  were  a  breath  and  spoken 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          171 

over  her  shoulder.  Anne  half  turned, 
when  Donald's  hand  was  laid  upon  her 
arm. 

"  No,"  he  said  quickly,  "  don't  look 
at  me.  Let  me  say  what  I  must  here." 

His  dark,  agonized  face  was  bent 
above  her  as  she  sat  in  a  waiting  atti- 
tude, her  eyes  on  the  silent  clock.  A 
lock  of  hair  lay  on  her  shoulder,  and 
Donald's  fingers  touched  it  stealthily 
during  a  moment's  pause. 

"  How  can  I  say  what  I  want  to  ?  " 
he  asked  helplessly.  "  But  I  needn't 
say  all.  You  know  what  you've  been 
to  me.  Anne,  this  room  holds  all  my 
worse  than  useless  life  has  known  — 
you  and  what  was  Joe.  His  eyes  are 
forever  closed,  the  first  whose  wor- 
ship I  felt  I  deserved.  You  don't  know 
what  that  meant  to  me.  His  look  was 
like  a  waiting  pardon,  no  matter  what 
my  sins." 

She  tried  to  lift  her  hand  and  speak, 
but  he  pressed  it  back,  still  avoiding  her 
gaze. 

"What  I  was  to  Joe,"  he  said,  "  you've 


172          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

been  to  me  —  that  and  more.  The  bond 
between  us  makes  me  know  that  in 
some  dear  sense  I  belong  to  you  —  that 
you  will  be  made  glad  or  sad  by  what 
I  may  become.  Well,  far  away  from 
you  in  a  land  where  I  shall  be  alone 
and  lonely  I'm  going  to  work,  thinking 
of  you.  After  to-night  I  may  not  see 
you  again  for  years.  When  I  am  fit 
I'll  come  back,  and  I  may  say  to  you 
then,  Anne,  what  now  I  must  only 
whisper  from  shadow  and  without  a 
hope.  I  love  you.  You  are  more  to 
me  than  creed  or  church  or  prayers, 
for  you've  done  what  those  couldn't. 
And  I  love  you  for  yourself,  apart  from 
this  altogether.  I  love  you,  Anne,  I 
love  you." 

His  voice  faltered.  Anne  rose  and 
faced  him.  It  seemed  as  if  chords  in 
her  soul  had  been  struck  harshly  that 
night,  but  in  some  insolvable  way  a 
wondrous  harmony  had  resulted.  The 
yearning  sentiment  which  Donald  had 
always  inspired  in  her  rose  to  some- 
thing more.  In  being  hope,  desire,  and 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          173 

strength  to  him  there  was  a  responsi- 
bility of  joy  and  pain  she  could  not 
wholly  accept,  yet  would  not  repulse. 
She  gave  him  her  hands,  her  mouth 
quivering  like  a  child's.  Her  eyes  were 
all  tenderness  and  confidence. 

"  I  don't  deserve  a  love  like  this,"  she 
said  seriously.  "  How  little  I  deserve 
it!  But  I'll  remember,  Donald." 

She  sighed  and  looked  at  him  in- 
tently. 

"  I'll  remember  all  you've  said."  But 
when  his  eyes  grew  more  wistful  she 
looked  away. 

It  was  after  two  o'clock  when  Donald 
left  her  at  her  door  and  said  good-by. 
She  watched  him  down  the  street,  and 
saw  him  stand  once  in  the  drifting  snow 
and  look  back. 

She  went  slowly  up  the  stairs  and 
into  the  sitting-room,  where  the  fire  had 
been  kept  bright.  A  mocking  presence 
seemed  to  greet  her.  Just  within  the 
door  she  leaned  against  the  wall.  There 
was  the  snow-padded  window,  the  cur- 
tain drawn  back  as  her  hand  had  placed 


174          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

it.  By  the  fire  was  the  chair  in  which 
David  Temple  had  sat.  She  saw  the 
book  on  which  her  elbow  had  rested 
as  she  had  listened  to  him. 

In  the  shock  of  Joe's  death  and  Don- 
ald's unexpected  words  the  memory  of 
the  bitter  hour  spent  there  had  been 
crowded  back.  Now  it  started  into  full 
life,  and  apprehensive  disgust  of  the 
days  to  come  nullified  other  feeling 
within  her. 

"  Oh,  to  forget,  to  forget,  to  forget  ! " 

She  flung  off  cloak  and  hat  and  sat 
down  at  her  desk  before  the  window. 
Her  lips  were  set  and  seemed  to  have 
been  brushed  with  ashes.  Her  eyes 
were  shut  beneath  frowning  brows. 
She  would  forget  —  she  must.  She 
could  not  bear  the  days  to  come  un- 
less she  did  forget. 

Before  her  lay  the  portfolio  holding 
the  pages  of  her  neglected  novel. 
Scarcely  knowing  what  she  did,  she 
opened  it  and  laid  her  hands  upon  the 
leaves.  A  phrase  here  and  there  caught 
her  eyes,  the  names  of  the  characters 


A  Circle  in  the   Sand  175 

she  had  created.  A  deeper  attraction 
for  the  work  awoke  in  her;  desire  for 
sleep  departed,  and  she  felt  alive  to  her 
finger-tips. 

She  bent  over  the  pages,  and  her  pen 
went  haltingly  at  first,  but  by  degrees  a 
new  desire  dominated  her,  and  nothing 
but  the  thought  and  the  word  born  of 
the  thought  were  real  to  her.  All  else 
had  failed.  This  power  in  herself  was 
strong  and  true.  Though  all  other  de- 
lights forsook  her,  this  never  would. 

Her  cheek  was  gray,  and  the  light 
had  gone  from  her  eyes,  whose  lashes 
were  stiffened  with  tears.  But  she  was 
no  longer  unhappy.  The  drifting  mists 
of  that  strange  dawn  fled  under  the  full 
sunlight  and  found  her  still  writing. 


Chapter  XV 

SEVEN  months  had  passed  since 
David's  marriage  in  April. 

They  had  gone  by  for  Anne  in  a 
vague,  uncounted  way,  not  in  days,  but 
in  dreams,  during  which  only  the  mental 
half  of  her  had  seemed  to  live,  and  the 
word  "  work  "  had  been  her  shibboleth. 

Her  finished  novel,  smelling  of 
printer's  ink,  lay  on  her  knees.  In  an 
absent  way  she  fondled  it,  ruffled  the 
pages  against  her  cheek,  and  kissed  it. 
She  had  begun  it  when  her  heart  was 
bleeding,  had  given  herself  to  it  during 
hours  when  she  should  have  slept,  had 
walked  with  it  as  with  a  spirit,  had 
known  no  other  love  nor  friend  during 
those  seven  months. 

And  it  had  repaid  her  with  comfort, 
encouragement,  and  the  assurance  of 

ideals  grasped.     She  held  it  as  a  mother 
176 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          177 

her  child,  and  felt  an  exquisite  peace. 
No  one  in  all  the  world  ever  could 
know  her  like  that  little  book. 

The  firelit  room  was  restful.  Her 
thoughts  strayed  back  to  forbidden 
scenes.  She  could  think  of  them  to- 
day without  the  old  sickening  sense  of 
loss,  when  the  future  had  seemed  to 
hold  no  force  sufficient  to  wipe  out  or 
rebuild.  She  had  learned  to  spell  the 
meaning  of  life  ;  it  was  part  of  life 
which  had  crushed  her  to  tears,  the 
mixed  human  life,  made  up  of  sorrows, 
affronts,  defeats,  just  such  philosophy 
as  she  comforted  herself  with  now,  and 
the  joy  which  might  sometime  be  hers. 

For  seven  months  she  had  not  seen 
David  Temple.  He  had  taken  Olga 
through  the  lands  he  had  dreamed 
of  visiting  since  his  boyhood.  An  im- 
petuous, characteristic  scrawl  had 
occasionally  come  from  Olga,  chiefly 
at  the  close  of  letters  from  David  in 
which  he  had  rambled  on  in  his  old, 
half-teasing,  brilliant  style,  treating  her 
with  the  same  fascinating  camaraderie 


178          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

which  had  once  quickened  her  foolish 
heart  into  a  surrender  he  had  not  de- 
sired. From  lands  whose  postmarks 
had  suggested  visions  of  strange,  fantas- 
tic beauty  these  letters  had  drifted  like 
echoes  of  brilliant  rhapsodies  across  the 
semi-tones  of  her  life. 

The  first  fortnight  of  the  honeymoon 
had  been  spent  at  Ponto  del  Gado  in 
the  Azores,  a  rare  land  of  sea-encircled 
silence,  the  camellias  thickly  fallen 
from  the  trees  making  a  carpet  like 
perfumed  snow  for  the  earth.  They 
lived  in  a  cream-colored  villa  with 
coral-pink  shutters  ;  it  was  built  on  a 
green  hill  plateau  and  approached  by  a 
stairway  hewn  out  of  lava  from  some 
early  volcanic  torrent;  the  blue  reaches 
of  the  Atlantic  swept  to  the  blue 
horizon  line  on  every  side,  until  the 
world  seemed  domed  and  steeped  in 
azure. 

From  the  heights  of  Mustapha  Supe- 
rieur  outside  Algiers,  they  had  watched 
the  fuchsia-pink  of  fleeting  spring 
dusks  die  on  the  Mediterranean,  and 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          179 

had  walked  under  the  moon  in  the 
cemetery  of  a  mosque  a  thousand  years 
old. 

They  had  lived  in  a  semi-ruined 
palace  in  Venice,  the  street  beneath 
their  windows  a  radiant  river  holding 
the  stars  and  moon  and  the  wavering 
shadows  of  gondoliers  whose  oars 
dipped  to  music  near  and  far  away  ; 
they  had  watched  a  bull-fight  in  Seville ; 
played  at  Monte  Carlo;  and,  drifting 
among  the  narrow  fjords,  had  felt  the 
weird  beauty  of  the  midnight  sun  in 
Norway.  The  past  two  months  had 
found  them  in  England,  guests  at  sev- 
eral country  houses.  Soon  they  were 
coming  home. 

Anne  sat  back  and  clasped  her  hands 
behind  her  head.  On  the  desk  beside 
her  lay  three  letters  :  one  offered  her 
the  assistant  editor's  chair  on  a  new 
weekly  paper  ;  one  ready  for  the  post 
was  her  acceptance  ;  the  other  was  to 
David  and  contained  her  resignation. 
In  withdrawing  from  the  "  Citizen," 
her  intimate  attitude  to  David  would  be 


i8o          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

changed  :  they  would  meet  seldom. 
This  was  all  she  desired  now. 

The  ship  which  carried  David  and 
Olga,  among  some  other  hundreds  of 
souls,  arrived  in  New  York  on  a  misty 
November  afternoon. 

Dr.  Ericsson  was  at  the  wharf  to 
meet  them.  They  were  to  dine  that 
night  en  famille  at  the  old  house  in 
Waverly  place. 

"  Anne  can't  be  with  us,"  said  the 
old  man  regretfully  as  the  carriage  took 
them  up  Broadway.  "  Her  old  home 
in  the  country  is  without  a  tenant  at 
present,  and  she's  taking  a  rest  there. 
She's  been  working  too  hard,  too  stead- 
ily, night  and  day." 

"  She's  a  fool,"  said  Olga  from  her 
corner,  where  she  sat  wrapped  in  furs 
to  the  nose.  "  She'll  be  used  up  in  five 
years." 

David  felt  his  heart  grow  warm  at 
the  mention  of  Anne's  name.  The  old 
life  would  be  delightful  again.  He 
had  lost  many  ideals  during  the  long 
honeymoon,  and  now  longed  for  work, 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          181 

the  rush  of  the  "  Citizen's  "  rooms,  where 
discussions  on  life's  verities  shot  to  and 
fro  like  a  weaver's  shuttle.  He  longed 
for  a  sight  of  Anne  at  her  corner  desk, 
with  bent  profile  or  cheek  resting  in  her 
hand.  His  marriage  should  not  alter  the 
friendship  which  had  been  in  its  way 
more  satisfying,  as  it  surely  was  rarer, 
than  love.  A  comrade  of  a  pretty,  clever 
woman  was  the  best  gift  a  man  could 
have  in  life.  And  he  knew  Anne  would 
be  glad  to  have  him  back.  She  must 
have  missed  him,  for  she  chose  few 
friends,  and  none  had  been  to  her  like 
him. 

u  Tell  me  about  Anne,"  he  said  eager- 
ly, while  he  gazed  with  pleasure  at  the 
familiar  street  scenes  framed  in  the 
carriage  windows.  "  She's  well,  isn't 
she?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed!  "  said  Dr.  Ericsson, 
with  a  bright  smile.  "  Why  shouldn't 
she  be  ?  If,  as  they  say,  a  woman  thrives 
on  admiration,  she's  had  quite  enough 
to  turn  that  dark-tressed  head  of  hers. 
You  know  about  her  book?" 


1 82          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

"No.  Is  it  finished?  You  don't  mean 
she's  had  her  book  published  ?  She  did 
not  write  that  bit  of  news.  I  call  it  sly 
of  her." 

"  Perhaps  she  doubted  its  merit,  its  re- 
ception. She  doubts  no  longer.  There 
are  plenty  of  books  chucked  at  the 
public,  but  seldom  one  like  hers.  Every- 
body is  recommending  it  to  everybody 
else." 

"  This  is  great  news.  Do  you  hear, 
Olga?" 

But  Olga  was  asleep. 

"  Morgan  did  a  good  thing  for  him- 
self when  he  got  her  for  the  l  Planet,' 
didn't  he  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Ericsson.  "  You'll 
miss  her  on  the  '  Citizen.' ' 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  David. 
"  I  don't  know  what  you're  talking 
about." 

"  But  you  knew  Anne  was  no  longer 
with  the  <  Citizen.'  " 

"  No,  I  didn't." 

"  She  wrote  you  ten  days  —  two 
weeks  ago." 

"  I  didn't  get  the  letter,  then."     And 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          183 

David  sat  back,  making  no  effort  to  hide 
his  disappointment. 

After  learning  the  particulars  he  was 
silent.  He  could  not  realize  that  Anne 
was  gone,  and  with  her  to  a  great  extent 
the  influence  in  his  life  he  desired  and 
loved  in  the  purest  sense.  He  longed 
to  be  with  her  again  that  night.  There 
was  much  he  wanted  to  talk  to  her 
about.  He  wanted  to  see  her  come 
toward  him  and  welcome  him.  He 
wanted  to  hear  her  bright  account  of 
the  multitude  of  incidents  which  had 
happened  during  the  months  he  had 
been  away.  She  had  a  pretty  trick 
when  talking  of  bringing  her  fist  down 
upon  her  knee  in  the  most  gentle  way, 
that  had  always  reminded  him  of  a 
flower  striking  its  head  against  a  wall, 
—  he  wanted  to  see  that,  and  her  up- 
lifted face,  and  to  hear  her  quick 
laugh.  He  had  felt  a  similar,  but  less 
intricate,  craving  for  a  chum  at  school 
after  the  division  of  the  holidays. 

The  feeling  strengthened  during  the 
night,  and  long  after  Olga  had  gone  to 


184          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

her  first  land  sleep  on  a  bed  that  didn't 
wabble  he  found  himself  treading  the 
stairs  leading  to  the  "  Citizen  "  offices. 
It  was  close  upon  midnight.  He  had 
not  been  expected  until  morning,  and 
his  coming  made  a  sensation.  In  a 
twinkling  he  was  in  the  midst  of  the  old 
life,  finding  at  that  unexpected  moment 
a  score  of  questions  to  decide  and  the 
usual  turmoil  singing  in  the  air.  He 
flung  himself  into  the  work,  his  disap- 
pointment about  Anne  almost  forgotten 
in  the  earnestness  of  the  hour. 

But  in  the  early  morning,  when  with 
the  wet  first  copy  of  the  paper  in  his 
hand  he  stood  before  her  deserted  desk, 
a  sense  of  loss  crept  coldly  over  him. 
Would  he  never  see  her  sitting  there 
again  ? 


Chapter  XVI 

THE  old  Temple  mansion  on  lower 
Fifth  avenue  seemed  to  wink  sur- 
prise from  its  windows  at  the  changes 
which  had  taken  place  within  its  walls 
for  months  before  and  weeks  after  its 
master's  return.  Staircases  had  been 
reversed,  rooms  halved  or  multiplied, 
windows  made  over,  and  the  furniture 
of  many  generations  removed  to  make 
room  for  the  treasures  Olga  had  brought 
with  her  from  Europe. 

When  completed  at  Christmas-time, 
it  was  as  beautiful  as  rare  rugs,  china, 
and  genuine  antiquities  could  make  it. 

Since  her  earliest  memory  Olga  had 
never  been  given  a  penny  to  spend 
without  the  accompaniment  of  a  cau- 
tion to  use  it  to  the  best  advantage,  as 
there  were  few  to  follow.  Later  her 
insatiable  need  of  luxuries  beyond  her 
185 


i86          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

reach  had  been  gratified  by  the  mount- 
ing up  of  bills,  but  the  unpleasantness 
of  debt  had  followed  and  eaten  half 
the  pleasure.  As  David  Temple's  wife 
she  found  herself  for  the  first  time  able 
to  command  money,  and  she  spent  it. 
Luxuries  became  needs,  fashionable 
rivalries  troubled  her,  and  she  lay 
awake  devising  competitive  extrava- 
gances. It  was  her  ambition  to  be 
not  only  the  beauty  of  her  set,  but 
a  famous  beauty  and  the  most  talked- 
of  woman  of  her  time.  Celebrated 
belles  of  the  past  had  found  a  place 
in  history,  either  by  their  splendid  gal- 
lantries, wit,  or  by  the  originality  of 
their  caprices. 

The  age  she  lived  in  did  not  view 
the  first  with  the  palliative  shrug  be- 
longing to  the  days  of  Charles  II.  and 
Louis  XIV.;  the  second  was  beyond 
her;  but  a  startling  outlay  of  money  by 
a  beauty  of  good  position  could  create 
a  heroine  in  this  money-worshipping 
time. 

"  You  are  splendid,"  Smedley  Joyce 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          187 

said  to  her,  surveying  her  with  mono- 
cle held  up.  "  You  need  splendor. 
You're  the  very  one  to  set  the  pace  in 
society.  We  have  no  social  successes 
here  worth  mentioning,  unless  I  except 
myself.  But  you  can  become  leader 
and  attract  rivals.  That  sort  of  thing 
gives  verve,  you  know.  The  day  will 
come  when  American  society  will  not 
be  the  vapid  thing  it  is  now,  and  even 
self-complacent,  non-travelled  France 
will  at  least  have  heard  our  names. 
You  are  beautiful,  young,  rich,  and  a 
capital  actress.  Use  your  gifts  well, 
startle  by  your  originalities,  make  a 
feature  of  the  drama  in  the  drawing- 
room,  spend  all  the  money  you  can 
command  in  a  way  that  will  create 
notice,  —  do  these  things  and  you  will 
be  a  success." 

Olga  laid  the  lesson  to  heart.  Her 
country-house  on  the  Sound,  purchased 
from  a  fallen  millionaire,  soon  outdid 
in  cost  and  display  her  town-house. 
Her  next  craze  was  for  horses,  and  she 
had  stables  built  with  stalls  of  oak  and 


1 88          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

trimmings  of  copper.  A  chic  Marie 
Antoinette  boudoir  on  the  upper  floor 
was  the  most  bizarre  touch,  and  a  small 
musicale  given  there  attracted  the  re- 
porters of  society  gossip. 

She  produced  at  her  own  house  an 
old  comedy  of  sufficient  frankness  to 
create  a  sensation  among  her  familiars 
and  make  the  curious  of  humbler  status 
ache  for  a  sight  of  her.  She  made  sen- 
sational hits  by  unique  methods  of  be- 
stowing charity.  She  became  one  of 
the  most  talked-of  women  in  New 
York. 

David  lived  with  her,  watched  her. 
Every  day  he  learned  something  new 
of  the  shallow,  self-centred  nature 
masked  by  a  loveliness  which  de- 
spite his  reasoning  subdued  him  still. 
He  could  have  checked  her  extrava- 
gance, controlled  her.  He  preferred 
to  do  neither,  for  he  knew  that  in  be- 
coming her  master  her  fear  of  him 
would  have  to  be  the  weapon  in  his 
hand,  her  secret  hate  the  result. 

His  fortune  was  a  splendid  one.     The 


A  Circle  in  the   Sand  189 

actual  money  spent,  great  though  it  was, 
troubled  him  little,  but  Olga's  insensate 
desire  for  spending  helped  to  reveal  her 
to  him.  Her  vanity,  which  she  took  no 
pains  to  hide,  was  a  continual  affront. 

They  never  quarrelled,  seldom  dis- 
agreed. Olga  was  affectionate,  soft, 
gentle,  as  of  old.  No  man  could  be 
insensible  to  her  charm.  But  David 
divined  how  quickly  the  amiable  smile 
would  have  changed  to  stolid  dislike 
had  her  whims  been  interfered  with. 
She  went  her  own  way  serenely,  no 
soul  in  her  life,  none  in  her  kiss,  lov- 
ing nothing  in  the  world  save  her  own 
white  and  perfect  body. 

David  was  conscious  of  these  truths, 
yet  chose  not  to  see  them  too  clearly. 
He  remained  wilfully  dull-sighted.  He 
did  not  dare  to  think,  decide,  accept. 
Why  fight  the  irremediable?  Why 
plunge  his  mind  in  shadows?  Why 
face  the  fact  that  in  the  most  serious 
relation  of  life  he  had  committed  an 
amazing  piece  of  folly?  Rather  let 
him  accept  Olga  as  she  was,  not  the 


190          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

woman  of  his  impassioned  fancy.  Let 
him  demand  only  what  she  could  give, 
and  learn  to  subdue  his  hunger  for  an 
existence  she  could  not  be  part  of  nor 
understand.  Let  him  refrain  from 
fathoming  the  muddy  shallows  of  her 
soul,  by  degrees  need  her  less,  and 
draw  around  himself  the  comfort  of  an 
irresistible  indifference.  Better  so  for 
the  peace  of  his  life. 

But  sometimes  a  memory  would 
trouble  David  Temple  and  leave  his 
heart  sad.  He  would  think  of  the 
day  he  had  heard  the  pale  singer 
whisper  of  the  damozel  who  watched 
from  heaven  for  her  lover,  and  he 
would  remember  how  in  that  moment 
his  heart  had  grown  large  with  joy  as 
he  looked  at  Olga's  face.  It  had  really 
been  but  the  stir  of  the  upper  waves  of 
passion,  and  he  had  fancied  the  sea- 
depths  troubled,  but  from  that  moment's 
ache  and  rapture  he  had  known  what 
love  might  be  in  a  life  when  it  stayed. 


Chapter  XVII 

MY    DEAR   DONALD:    You  want   me   to 
tell  you  just  where  I  am  and  how  I  look 
whenever  I  write  to  you  —  a  habit,  by  the  way, 
which  may  make  me  very  conceited. 

Well,  then,  it  is  a  wet  Sunday,  but  soft  and  hazy 
as  wet  June  days  are.  The  windows  are  open  and 
the  big  tree  outside  drips  a  burden  of  rain-tears. 
The  sky  is  all  mist,  with  the  blue  only  a  little  way 
beyond.  I  have  had  a  lazy  morning,  and  now  after 
a  cold  plunge  and  a  cup  of  tea  I  am  sitting  in  a 
white  morning-gown  and  my  hair  hangs  down  my 
back  in  a  long  plait.  Are  these  details  satisfactory  ? 
I  have  a  big  bunch  of  roses  in  the  copper  bowl  you 
gave  me,  and  the  bell  of  the  French  church  is  call- 
ing the  people  to  worship.  Oh,  it's  good  to  be 
at  peace  with  everything  created  !  Hours  like  this 
are  the  heaven  of  my  week.  Woman  is  a  luxurious 
animal,  and  when  she  spends  six  days  with  disci- 
pline and  routine  as  I  do,  she  is  very  apt  to  go  to 
pieces  on  the  seventh.  Behold  me,  then,  to-day, 
degenerate,  not  going  to  church,  not  improving 
my  mind,  not  in  a  stiff  collar,  and  guiltless  of  a 
ha-irpin. 

191 


192          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

The  new  "  Planet  "  gets  on  famously.  I  have  a 
little  room  and  a  big  desk  all  to  myself.  Proof- 
readers and  others  "confer  "  with  me.  Think  of  it ! 
I  feel  quite  a  personage,  Donald,  but  I  think  my 
expression  is  not  changed  in  consequence.  I  go 
to  the  office  every  day  and  leave  at  about  three. 
Generally  I  write  on  my  new  book  until  dinner. 
Of  course  this  programme  is  frequently  changed. 
I  go  out  a  good  deal,  and  have  met  lots  of  people 
who  simply  suggest  "  copy  "  with  every  turn  of  the 
head,  created  for  no  other  purpose,  I'm  sure,  than 
to  have  me  write  about  them.  Yes,  I  am  still  a 
"  student  of  life."  Will  you  never  stop  teasing  me 
about  that  phrase?  How  often  I  think  of  the 
queer  sights  we  saw  together  when  you  were  direct- 
ing my  instruction  !  Didn't  we  enjoy  them,  Donald, 
that  old  Russian  exile,  —  I  can  hear  his  violin 
now, —  the  first  time  I  saw  the  "Citizen's"  presses 
going  like  mad,  the  nook  in  the  degenerate  back 
street  where  we  had  tea  and  speculated  about 
Paris  ? 

You  see  what  your  command  to  talk  about  my- 
self has  done.  I  haves  talked  of  nothing  else. 
Did  you  get  the  papers  I  sent  about  the  dinner 
and  cotillion  at  Olga's?  I  can't  tell  you  how 
beautiful  she  looked.  Why,  by  the  way,  do  you 
think  David  isn't  happy?  Why  shouldn't  he  be ? 
He  has  married  the  woman  he  loves,  and  is  able 
to  surround  her  with  the  luxury  she  requires  to  be 
content.  Perhaps  he  would  prefer  not  to  be  the 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          193 

husband  of  a  society  beauty  on  whom  the  lens  is 
always  fixed.  In  fact,  I  know  Olga's  display  must 
jar  upon  him.  But  he  is  wise  enough  to  know 
that  no  life  holds  all.  If  he  loves  her,  the  rest  is 
mere  detail.  If  he  doesn't  —  well,  I  don't  know, 
Donald.  David  is  a  man  to  hide  well  what  he 
wishes  to  hide,  and  have  an  inner  life  without  a 
hint  betraying  it.  They  act  in  society  as  do  all 
people  with  a  proper  idea  of  form  —  pay  not  the 
slightest  attention  to  each  other.  Let  us  hope  the 
tone  of  David's  letter  to  you  was  only  the  result  of 
a  passing  mood. 

And  now  to  talk  of  yourself.  I  hope  you  are 
well  and  feel  more  happy  now  on  that  sleepy 
plantation.  I  feel  so  glad  when  you  write  with 
courage.  Try  not  to  be  homesick.  The  sketches 
you  sent  are  beautiful,  and  you  are  right  to  keep 
up  your  sketching. 

You  are  unfair  to  say  I  don't  miss  you.  I  do 
indeed,  and  think  of  you  often.  Write  a  happy 
letter  next  time.  I'll  look  for  it.  Tell  me  more 
about  the  business,  and  don't  be  disappointed  if  you 
can't  make  money  as  fast  as  you'd  like.  You  are 
sure  to  win  if  you  are  patient.  With  good  wishes 
from  my  heart,  ANNE. 


Chapter  XVIII 

A  MONEY  panic  not  wholly  un- 
locked for  fell  upon  the  country. 
Railroads  went  under,  stocks  fell,  banks 
failed,  and  in  the  depression  ruin  was 
written  after  prominent  names.  Others, 
while  holding  an  apparently  unchanged 
position,  had  lost  heavily  and  expected 
the  worst. 

David  was  one  of  the  latter.  By 
August  he  found  himself  but  a  little 
way  from  the  edge  of  disaster.  The 
calamity  stunned  him.  He  thought  of 
his  uncalculated  expenditures,  of  Olga's 
insatiable  demands.  After  seven  sleep- 
less nights  he  went  to  Newport,  where? 
unmindful  of  her  empty  country-house 
on  the  Sound,  Olga  had  rented  a  cot- 
tage. They  had  an  interview  on  the 
big  terrace  fronting  the  sea.  By  this 

time  they  had  reached  the  condition  of 
194 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          195 

null  domesticity  when  they  saw  each 
other  as  seldom  as  possible,  and  had  in- 
terviews. David  was  tenderly  consid- 
erate. He  went  into  the  most  tiresome 
business  details,  trying  to  simplify  them 
and  make  her  understand.  She  scarcely 
listened.  He  knew  that  by  the  expres- 
sion of  her  quiet  eyes.  He  urged  the 
need  of  economy.  She  shrugged  her 
shoulders  with  a  tolerant  smile,  but 
offered  no  resistance  when  he  spoke  of 
selling  the  country-house  on  Long  Isl- 
and and  the  eccentric  stable.  Secretly 
she  was  tired  of  them  both. 

"  It  seems  immensely  stupid  to  let 
your  affairs  get  so  muddled,"  she  said, 
in  her  soft  voice  ;  "  but  you'll  pull  out 
all  right.  Men  always  do." 

"  You  don't  understand,  Olga.  This 
is  no  passing  breeze.  We  are  in  the 
midst  of  a  storm,  and  how  it  will  end 
God  alone  knows.  The  '  Citizen '  is 
safe.  I  am  the  heaviest  stockholder 
there,  and  if  the  worst  comes  I  can  sell 
my  interest." 

"  But   the    worst   won't   come,"    she 


196          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

said  slowly,  and  looked  up  at  him  from 
under  her  shady  hat  with  an  expression 
not  unlike  hatred. 

"  You'd  better  face  now  what  might 
be.  I  hardly  know  where  I  stand." 

He  spoke  coldly.  He  was  antago- 
nized by  her  tranquil  selfishness  when 
he  remembered  his  nights  of  suspense. 

"  But  you'll  come  out  of  it  all  right," 
she  quietly  insisted.  "  Fortunes  go  up 
and  down.  Other  men  have  been  in 
awkward  places  lots  of  times,  but  they 
have  managed  to  escape  unhurt,  and 
you  must  do  the  same.  Bertie  Ogden 
was  telling  me  only  the  other  day  that 
when  things  were  lively  in  Wall  street, 
and  some  men  failed,  it  was  the  time 
for  others  to  seize  the  opportunity  and 
make  money.  He  said  it  was  like 
vultures  battening  on  a  wounded  bird. 
Suppose  you  batten  a  little,  David?  Or 
are  you  too  conscientious?  I  wish  I 
understood  business.  I'd  tell  you  what 
to  do." 

She  stood  up  and  shook  out  her 
mauve  lace-ruffled  skirt.  He  saw  she 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          197 

was  pale  to  the  lips.  After  the  kiss  of 
greeting  she  had  not  touched  him  or 
spoken  one  word  of  comfort  or  cour- 
age. And  he  hoped  for  these  things 
still  from  her,  though  since  she  bore 
his  name  she  had  taken  no  pains  to 
cheat  him. 

"  One  needs  money  to  seize  the 
chance  of  standing  in  a  fallen  man's 
place,"  he  said,  trying  to  be  patient. 
"What  if  I  have  none?  If  I  paid  our 
tremendous  debts,  which  a  few  months 
ago  it  seemed  only  consistently  fashion- 
able to  accumulate,  I'd  have  scarcely 
anything  but  my  interest  in  the  paper 
left.  Do  you  quite  realize  now  where 
we  stand?  Do  you  know  what  it  costs 
to  live  as  we've  been  living?  I've 
been  very  generous  with  you,  Olga. 
You  can't  say  I've  denied  you  any- 
thing, even  when  I  should,  perhaps." 

"  Generous  ?  "  she  said,  her  eyelids 
falling  insolently.  "  I  don't  like  that 
word.  It's  out  of  fashion  between 
husbands  and  wives.  When  you  mar- 
ried me,  what  you  had  became  mine. 


198          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

I  spent  it  as  my  right.  If  you'd  in- 
terfered, you'd  soon  have  understood 
that  I  held  this  view." 

She  looked  frivolous  and  winsome 
as  she  stood  in  the  soft  light,  striking 
a  long-stemmed  rose  against  her  skirt 
as  she  spoke.  David  felt  a  mixed  sen- 
sation of  tenderness,  pity,  and  amuse- 
ment seize  him  at  the  thought  that 
the  right  to  her  husband's  purse  was 
the  only  advanced  problem  Olga  had 
been  interested  enough  to  attempt  to 
solve.  Despite  the  crisis  of  the  mo- 
ment and  his  sore  heart,  he  was  dis- 
posed to  question  her  farther.  He 
leaned  forward,  letting  his  elbow  rest 
on  his  knee,  and  seizing  the  head  of 
the  rose  she  toyed  with,  held  her  so. 

"  But  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  he 
said  quietly. 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  you'd  have  doled  me 
out  dollars  if  you'd  dared  and  made  me 
keep  an  account,"  she  said.  "  Perhaps 
that's  your  view." 

"  No.  As  I  said  before,  although 
you  do  not  like  the  word,  I  am  gener- 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          199 

cms.  I  would  give  you  half  my  income, 
or  more,  perhaps,  but  your  right  to  it  I 
deny." 

"  I  can't  argue  with  you.  I  only 
know  what  I  think." 

"  Can't  you  tell  me  why  you  think 
it?" 

"  Well,  I  married  you.  I've  given 
up  my  freedom  for  you,  made  your  life 
mine,  therefore  everything  you  possess 
should  be  equally  mine,"  she  said  inso- 
lently. 

"  But  in  becoming  my  wife  do  you 
make  me  your  debtor?" 

"  Well,  something  of  that  sort." 

"  My  dear  Olga," —  and  David  looked 
at  her  with  wise  and  tender  eyes, — 
"  you  are  not  the  first  woman  who  has 
made  that  mistake.  Just  consider  the 
matter  from  a  reasonable  point  of 
view." 

She  looked  out  at  sea,  her  face  ex- 
pressing rebellion  and  unbelief. 

"  Marriage  should  be  a  bond  bring- 
ing as  much  happiness  to  a  woman  as 
to  a  man.  I  asked  you  to  marry  me 


200          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

because  I  loved  you.  I  supposed  you 
came  to  me  as  gladly  for  the  same 
reason.  Had  I  thought  otherwise, 
nothing  under  heaven  would  have  made 
me  accept  you  as  a  wife.  I  didn't  want 
a  sacrifice,  I  didn't  want  to  buy  you, 
and  if  either  of  these  things  has  hap- 
pened I  may  count  myself  a  wretched 
man.  Therefore,  at  the  beginning,  we 
stood  equal  in  love.  Loving  each 
other,  we  married.  We  were  une- 
qually mated  in  regard  to  fortune.  It 
was  all  mine.  Do  not  misunderstand  me. 
I  was  glad  it  was  so.  But  why  should 
half  what  I  personally  possess  become 
yours,  when  a  third  or  a  fourth  is  more 
than  enough  for  you  to  be  extravagant 
upon?  Perhaps  because  you  think 
you've  made  me  happy?  Weren't  you 
as  happy  to  be  with  me  ?  Or  perhaps 
because  you  gave  up  your  freedom  to 
share  my  life?  That  should  be  no  loss 
if  you  loved  me,  dear.  Besides,  loving 
you,  didn't  I  gladly  surrender  a  wider 
liberty  ?  That  equal  division  as  a  right, 
of  which  there's  been  a  great  deal  said 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          201 

lately,  ought,  in  my  view,  only  to  exist 
under  two  conditions." 

"  I  am  curious  to  hear  whrat  they 
are,"  said  Olga  scornfully. 

"  Where  a  man  of  fortune  is  mad 
enough  to  buy  a  woman  as  his  wife, 
aware  that  she  has  no  love  for  him  "  — 

"Well?" 

His  fingers  stole  up  the  flower-stem 
until  they  clasped  hers  wistfully. 

"  Or  where  a  woman  becomes  a 
mother,"  he  said  very  softly.  "  Olga, 
the  woman  who  accepts  and  makes 
beautiful  this  responsibility  might  rightly 
command  not  half,  but  all,  her  husband's 
fortune,  though  she  had  been  a  beggar- 
maid  and  he  a  king.  They  are  not  equal 
there.  Then  she  has  sacred  rights.  She 
becomes  a  divine  mystery.  Then  he 
might  well  worship  her.  His  heart's 
blood  should  not  be  too  precious  to 
spend  for  her.  Do  you  understand  me, 
dear?" 

She  suffered  his  fingers  to  cling  to 
hers  while  she  continued  to  look  at  the 
sea.  There  was  prayer  in  the  hand- 


2O2          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

clasp.  He  was  trying  to  read  her 
thoughts.  Her  bosom  stirred  a  little 
under  its  laces,  her  eyes  were  almost 
tender  and  doubtful.  But  a  shade  set- 
tled upon  her  beautiful  face,  and  with  it 
came  decision.  The  rose  fell  from  her 
fingers. 

"  You  go  to  extremes,  David,"  she 
said,  with  a  tolerant  smile.  "  When 
we  have  children,  later,  —  some  time  or 
other,  —  I  won't  ask  your  heart's  blood 
nor  want  to  be  considered  a  mystery. 
I'll  be  content  with  a  yacht  or  a  house 
in  London,  or  something  thoroughly 
practical,  as  you'll  see.  I'm  going  to 
drive.  Will  you  come?" 

"  No,  I  must  go  back  to  town  to- 
night." 

"  Then  we've  finished  about  this  tire- 
some money  business  ?  "  she  asked,  lift- 
ing a  pair  of  long  gloves  from  the  back 
of  a  chair. 

"  We  have  if  I've  made  you  un- 
derstand our  position,"  and  he  passed 
his  hands  over  his  face  in  a  distracted 
way. 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  203 

"  You  really  mean  we're  in  danger  of 
beggary?"  she  asked,  with  sudden 
passion.  "Do  you  mean  that?" 

"  Must  I  go  over  it  all  again  ?  Don't 
you  believe  me?  Don't  suppose  I'm 
trying  to  terrorize  you.  What  I  say 
now  is  the  simple  truth,  and  I'll  say  it 
clearly,  leaving  out  all  the  technicalities 
of  a  business  explanation.  In  the  pres- 
ent crisis  more  than  half  my  principal 
has  depreciated  to  almost  nothing;  a 
good  deal  has  been  lost.  Suppose  the 
rest  goes  ?  " 

He  faced  her.  His  lips  were  set  in  a 
line  of  endurance,  around  his  eyes  were 
the  haggard  traces  of  care,  the  thick 
lock  which  fell  over  his  forehead  had  a 
grayness  which  aged  him.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  had  she  been  capable  of 
even  a  little  pity  she  would  have  come 
to  him,  taken  his  face  in  her  hands,  and 
kissed  him. 

She  pursed  up  her  lips  and  considered 
a  moment.  When  she  spoke  quietly, 
there  was  concentrated  meaning  in  her 
tones. 


204          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

"  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  poor  again.  I 
don't  think  I'd  take  that  condition  of 
affairs  calmly.  It  seems  to  me  I'd  do 
something  reckless;  I  don't  know  what." 

She  went  to  him  and  clasped  her 
arms,  bare  to  the  elbow,  around  his 
neck. 

"  Do  you  love  me  at  all  still  ? "  she 
asked  earnestly.  "  You  don't  love  me 
as  you  used  to,  but  do  you  love  me  at 
all?" 

He  bent  his  lips  to  her  wrist,  and  a 
terrible  sadness  came  into  his  eyes. 

"  I  love  you,  dear.  I  want  to  save 
you  from  pain." 

"Then  don't  become  a  poor  man, 
David.  Don't,  in  God's  name!  Do 
anything  to  get  the  money  back,"  she 
said,  moved  out  of  herself  for  the  first 
time.  "  I've  had  poverty  all  my  life,  all 
my  life.  Oh,  how  I  loathe  it  !  Yes,  I 
loathe  it !  You  think  me  selfish.  I  know 
you  do,  and  I  am.  But  I  wouldn't  really 
harm  you  nor  hurt  you  if  I  can  have 
an  easy  life  and  not  the  gall  of  poverty 
again.  I'm  not  a  great  woman,  nor  a 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          205 

particularly  good  woman,  but  I  think 
if  I  were  robbed  of  this  life  "  —  and  she 
looked  into  the  rich,  dim  rooms —  "  I 
might  be  a  hard,  bad  woman.  Save  me 
from  that  in  saving  yourself!  "  And 
she  clung  to  him.  "  Save  me,  David! 
Promise  you  will ! " 

"  I  promise,"  he  said  in  a  tone  which 
set  her  apart  from  him. 

As  he  crossed  the  terrace  to  the  open 
window  he  trod  on  the  flower  lying  be- 
tween them. 


Chapter   XIX 

IT  was  the  evening  of  Election  Day. 
Broadway  was  a  jumble  of  Ameri- 
can types  moving  under  a  light  fog 
which  made  every  street-lamp  a  star  in 
a  veil. 

From  the  windows  of  the  street-car 
in  which  Anne  sat  she  saw  the  strag- 
gling processions  giving  enthusiastic 
party  cries,  politicians  on  the  corners, 
and  ragged  boys  racing  past  with 
barrels  and  shutters  which  were  to 
blaze  later  in  splendid  impartiality,  no 
matter  which  side  won. 

It  was  after  six  o'clock,  and  she  was 
on  her  way  to  the  "  Citizen "  with  a 
"  special "  on  a  timely  topic  David  had 
asked  her  to  write.  She  could  have 
sent  it  down,  but  the  idea  of  going  to 
the  old  place  on  this  wild  night  when 

Newspaper  Row  was  a  seat  of  war  had 
206 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          207 

been  persistently  with  her  all  day.  The 
building  in  the  upper  part  of  the  town 
where  she  now  spent  her  days  was 
quiet  and  had  a  rarefied  editorial  flavor. 
It  was  not  as  dear  as  these  slimy, 
crowded  streets,  with  offices  as  con- 
fused as  ant-hills, in  nearer  neighborhood 
to  the  sky.  Lime-light  and  the  smell  of 
grease-paint  will  awaken  numbed  long- 
ings in  the  mind  of  an  actor  who  has 
forsworn  the  buskin,  and  the  same 
fascination  drew  Anne  to  the  "  Citizen  " 
to-night  for  a  taste  of  the  old  life  which 
had  the  savor  of  salt. 

She  left  the  car  and  made  her  way 
among  the  crowds  around  the  City 
Hall.  There  were  packed  masses 
gathered  early  to  wait  for  the  first 
election  signal-lights  on  the  big  build- 
ings. There  were  others  pressed  against 
the  great  newspaper  barracks  where 
bulletins  in  black  capitals  told  of  politi- 
cal failure  or  success,  according  to  the 
point  of  view.  It  seemed  to  Anne  that 
the  confused  noises  of  the  warring  earth 
must  at  last  besiege  heaven  as  a  sob. 


208          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

At  the  entrance  of  the  "  Citizen " 
building  an  electric  light  as  fierce  as 
the  politics  of  the  paper  blazed  upon 
the  moving  crowds.  It  fell  upon  many 
faces,  all  earnest,  strained,  or  preoccu- 
pied, and  on  one  as  familiar  to  Anne  as 
her  hand.  David  was  among  the  num- 
ber coming  down  the  muddy  stone 
hall,  and  she  made  her  way  toward 
him. 

But  a  second  glance  brought  her  to  a 
standstill.  She  read  consternation  and 
despair  in  his  changed  face.  As  he 
pushed  his  way  toward  the  door  with- 
out a  glance  on  either  side,  she  waited 
in  anxiety  till  he  should  reach  her  and 
she  would  know  what  grief  had  come 
upon  him.  But  his  eyes  met  hers 
blankly  as  he  passed  on  without  a  word. 

Anne  hesitated,  gazing  at  the  angle 
where  he  had  disappeared;  then  an 
irresistible  desire  to  hear  him  speak 
forced  her  back  to  the  street.  She  fol- 
lowed him,  the  ft  special  "  forgotten  in 
her  hand. 

He  was  suffering  from  some  shock, 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          209 

and  fear  made  riot  in  her  thoughts. 
Confused  ideas  of  unhappiness  in  his 
home,  disaster,  the  death  of  some  one 
dear,  the  loss  of  faith,  crowded  one 
another  in  her  mind  as  she  hurried  on 
through  the  mist,  her  eyes  upon  him. 

She  noticed  that  nothing  attracted 
his  attention,  not  the  raucous  cries  of 
newsboys,  the  arrest  of  a  thief,  nor  the 
bulletins  heralding  coming  election 
triumphs.  Filled  by  a  storm  which 
drew  his  thoughts  inward,  he  walked 
with  unseeing  eyes;  and  Anne  followed 
him,  conscious  only  of  the  ache  in  her- 
self and  the  desire  to  be  near  him.  So 
they  swept  on,  two  atoms  in  the  human 
stream,  now  in  shadow,  now  in  light, 
until  Newspaper  Row  was  left  well  be- 
hind and  the  big  bridge  was  reached. 

Anne  understood  the  feelings  which 
had  urged  David  here.  It  was  the  soli- 
tude which  a  lighthouse  lends  above  a 
snarling  sea.  The  city  lay  beneath  a 
pall  of  vapor.  Light  came  hazily  from 
the  peaked  shadows  of  houses,  seem- 
ing from  this  height  the  pitiful  abode  of 


210          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

earth-grubbers.  Search-lights  from  tow- 
ers, winking  rays  from  crimson  lamps 
on  street-cars  far  below,  wavered  on 
the  fog,  and  the  adagio  of  human  life 
sweeping  upward  was  an  unsyllabled 
moaning  as  if  from  the  heart  of  a  giant 
Tantalus. 

When  the  street  scenes  were  left  be- 
hind and  the  river  raced  beneath  the 
bridge,  the  voice  was  the  same  as  the 
city's  in  another  key.  Wave  slipped 
into  wave  with  sighing,  and  the  water 
torn  by  churning  boats  gushed  in  a  rip- 
pling minor. 

In  the  shade  between  the  towers 
David  paused.  He  stood  with  folded 
arms  and  looked  back  to  where  the 
lights  on  the  "  Citizen  "  building  flamed 
like  great  stars.  The  pallor  of  his  face, 
the  contracted  brow,  the  long  look  full 
of  dejection,  told  of  absolute  surrender 
to  despair. 

Anne  watched  him,  while  passers-by 
eddied  between  them.  She  longed  to 
slip  her  hand  into  his,  to  know  she  was 
desired  and  necessary  in  his  life.  Her 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          211 

throat  ached,  her  heart  went  wildly  out 
to  him.  But  all  desire  to  make  him 
conscious  of  her  presence  left  her.  He 
had  come  there  to  face  his  grief  alone. 
He  had  no  need  of  her.  She  turned 
away  and  left  him  to  his  implacable 
thoughts,  the  solitude,  and  night. 


Chapter   XX 

WHEN  David  reached  home  it 
was  after  eight  o'clock.  He 
went  at  once  to  the  library  and  touched 
the  bell. 

"Has  Mrs.  Temple  gone  out  yet?" 
he  asked  the  servant. 

"  No,  sir.  Mrs.  Temple's  dressing. 
She's  almost  ready,  sir." 

"Ask  her  to  stop  here  on  her  way 
out." 

He  sat  down  before  the  fire.  The 
grip  of  his  fingers  upon  his  knees 
showed  nervous  intensity;  his  eyes 
were  strained. 

Overhead  he  heard  Olga's  light  steps. 
She  was  busy  with  pufFand  powder-box 
preparing  for  the  part  she  was  to  play 
at  the  Amateur  Club  that  night.  The 
role  was  comedy.  It  would  be  altered 
after  hearing  one  word  from  his  lips. 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          213 

He  looked  restlessly  toward  the  door. 
After  his  self-communing  on  the  bridge 
above  the  never-quiet  river  the  stillness 
of  the  house  was  tormenting;  it  seemed 
waiting  for  the  crisis ;  the  clock  in  the 
shadow  beyond  the  door  seemed  a  soft- 
tongued  watcher  spying  upon  him. 

Olga  would  soon  come,  and  he  would 
tell  her  all.  She  would  suffer  bitterly. 
But  he  could  feel  no  pity  for  her,  none 
for  himself.  He  had  been  bitten  by  an- 
guish in  the  foggy  night  with  the  river- 
lights  around  him.  Now  he  felt  like  a 
stone. 

As  he  heard  Olga's  step  he  rose  and 
faced  the  door.  She  came  with  some 
light  word  of  greeting  on  her  lips,  but 
it  was  not  spoken,  and  she  remained  in 
an  advancing  pose,  her  eyes  upon  him. 
They  presented  a  violent  contrast,  creat- 
ures of  different  worlds,  it  seemed,  — 
Frivolity  looking  on  the  face  of  Pain. 

As  Lady  Teazle  Olga  wore  the  gown 
required  for  the  quarrel  scene.  Laces 
and  jewels  were  mysteriously  arranged 
on  the  stiff  pink  brocade,  her  throat 


214          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

was  like  snow,  and  so  was  her  high 
coifed  hair;  her  dreaming  eyes  were 
made  insinuating  by  a  line  of  cosmetic; 
a  touch  of  carmine  was  on  her  cheeks. 
She  was  radiant,  dainty,  alluringly  false. 

The  night  dews  clung  to  David. 
His  hair  was  wet  and  roughened  by 
his  restless  fingers.  Each  feature  was 
sharpened  from  the  rigors  of  fierce 
emotion.  His  sunken  eyes,  which  had 
scarcely  known  sleep  for  a  week,  were  as 
dull  as  if  blindness  had  come  upon  then. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  Olga  asked, 
after  that  long,  stupefied  look  ;  and 
there  was  fear  in  her  eyes.  She  did 
not  move  toward  him.  Her  hand  upon 
the  back  of  a  chair  seemed  a  carved 
part  of  it. 

"  I've  had  news,  Olga,  news  which 
I  received  by  a  private  source  to-day, 
which  all  the  country  will  know  to- 
morrow, when  the  wheels  of  business 
roar  again." 

"  Bad  news  ?  You  speak  coolly 
enough,  yet  look —  oh,  how  you  look! 
Have  you  seen  a  ghost?" 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          215 

She  roused  herself  and  went  nearer 
the  fire,  but  her  curious  eyes  kept 
watch  upon  him. 

"  I  have  seen  a  ghost,"  David  said,  in 
the  same  slow  tones;  "one  I've  long 
feared." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  You  are 
ridiculous." 

"  I  faced  the  ghost  of  myself,  Olga, 
for  a  bitter  hour  to-night "  —  and  he 
drew  her  quickly  to  him  —  "  the  ghost 
of  what  I  must  be  in  the  future.  It  has 
no  likeness  to  my  past  or  present  self. 
In  making  its  acquaintance  I  suffered, 
but  I  had  to  accept  it,  and  so  must  you, 
dear,  so  must  you." 

She  paled  under  her  rouge  and  her 
eyes  were  frightened.  She  let  him  lift 
her  passive  arms  and  kiss  her  tenderly, 
and  still  by  her  half-dazed  glance  he 
knew  she  was  waiting  for  the  confirma- 
tion of  her  fears. 

"  Olga,  many  fortunes  were  lost  to-day. 
Men  rich  yesterday  are  poor  to-night. 
My  dear,  my  dear,  I'm  so  sorry  for  you, 
so  sorry  to  say  it,  —  I  am  one  of  them." 


216          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

"Poor?"  The  word  came  slowly, 
and  she  drew  away,  her  brow  bent  like 
a  child's  over  a  task.  He  could  see  the 
pulse  going  rapidly  in  her  throat,  but 
other  than  this  she  displayed  no  feeling. 

"So  we  are  poor?"  she  said  more 
emphatically.  "  Will  you  tell  me  about 
it?  I  hardly  think  I  realize  it.  It 
doesn't  seem  possible." 

She  seated  herself  at  the  table  and 
took  her  chin  into  the  embrace  of  her 
palm.  As  she  did  so  the  diamonds  on 
her  wrists  and  fingers  flashed  under  her 
eyes.  She  spread  both  hands  on  her 
knees  and  thoughtfully  gazed  at  them. 
Poor,  while  these  stones  made  her  flesh 
radiant,  and  laces  holding  years  of  the 
workers'  lives  rested  under  her  fingers. 
It  seemed  impertinent,  impossible.  Yet 
she  knew  it  was  true,  and  in  her  own 
way  faced  the  inevitable. 

"Tell  me  just  what  you  mean,"  she 
said  with  composure.  "  What  have 
you  lost,  and  how?" 

He  went  into  minute  particulars  so 
that  no  part  of  the  truth  should  be 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          217 

hidden  from  her.  He  told  her  all  as 
gently  as  possible,  but  held  out  no  false 
hopes.  It  was  an  account  of  irremedi- 
able failure. 

"  And  why  did  you  go  into  these 
ventures,  risk  so  much?"  Olga  asked, 
a  judicial  light  in  her  eyes. 

"In  an  effort  to  be  too  rich,"  and 
folding  his  arms  he  nodded  sadly  at  her. 
"  You  remember  the  day  at  Newport," 
he  continued,  "  when  you  begged  me 
to  leave  nothing  undone  in  trying  to 
get  back  what  I'd  lost?  I  tried  to  keep 
my  promise  to  you,  Olga,  and  I  failed." 

"  Do  you  mean  there  is  nothing  left? 
You  own  the  paper?"  she  asked  impa- 
tiently, and  added,  with  something  of 
desperation,  "  don't  you  own  the 
paper?" 

"  No,  I  hold  the  controlling  interest, 
but  I  must  sell  it." 

"Why?" 

"  To  pay  debts  —  mine,  yours.  There 
are  plenty  of  them." 

"And  then?" 

"  Then  we'll  have  to  learn  courage." 


218          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

"  I  mean,"  she  said  distinctly,  "  what 
will  you  do  after  you  let  the  '  Citizen 7 
go?  You  haven't  any  tools  to  sharpen; 
you  haven't  any  trade  to  fall  back  on, 
have  you  ?  " 

Instead  of  noticing  the  mockery  of 
her  voice  he  said  simply: 

"  Oh,  but  I  have !  I've  thought  it  all 
out.  Journalism  is  my  trade.  I'll  ask 
for  the  managing  editor's  post  when  I 
sell  out,  and  I'll  get  it." 

"  How  interesting,  David !  What 
salary  goes  with  that  work  ?  " 

"  Four  thousand  a  year." 

She  received  the  words  in  silence 
and  stared  into  the  fire.  David,  smart- 
ing in  the  grip  of  an  unshared  sorrow, 
stood  like  an  alien  on  his  own  hearth. 
Never  had  he  read  her  so  success- 
fully. How  little  he  ever  was  to  her  — 
to-night,  nothing.  She  had  never  loved 
anything  in  the  world  except  herself. 
She  never  would.  It  was  torment  to  ex- 
pect from  her  more  than  she  could  give. 
And  yet  she  was  so  convincingly  fair  to 
believe  her  cold  made  nature  a  liar. 


A  Circle  in  the   Sand          219 

As  he  watched  her  his  heart  grew 
heavier  with  a  new  defeat.  She  was 
his  wife.  At  a  moment  like  this  they 
should  not  sit  apart  with  unspoken 
thoughts.  He  no  longer  dwelt  upon 
her  selfishness.  He  put  away  the 
philosophy  which  counselled  him  to  ex- 
pect nothing  from  her.  He  only  knew 
that  to  make  the  dark  future  bearable 
they  must  face  it  hand  in  hand.  He 
moved  nearer  to  her,  longing  to  make 
her  meet  his  eyes  and  become  one  with 
him  in  soul  during  this  hour  of  tempest. 
The  impulse  shrank  back,  wounded, 
when  she  looked  up  and  laughed. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I've  been  think- 
ing of  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I've  been  keep- 
ing my  first  account  book  in  fancy  — 
just  how  we  can  live  on  your  four 
thousand  a  year  instead  of  fifty.  I  be- 
came quite  familiar  with  the  apartment 
we'll  have,  the  two  maids,  the  one  wine 
at  dinner.  I've  allowed  myself  about 
three  really  good  gowns  with  silk  lin- 
ings, and  I  could  see  you  in  the  evening 
clothes  of  last  year's  cut.  Isn't  it  funny, 


220         A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

David?  Isn't  it  all  deadly  funny?" 
She  pressed  her  hands  upon  her  excited 
eyes  and  laughed  again. 

When  David  could  speak,  he  closed 
his  hand  nervously  on  her  shoulder  and 
bent  over  her. 

"  Don't  say  such  things,"  he  said. 
"  Oh,  don't.  This  is  an  hour  to  bring 
us  closer.  Olga,  it  changes  all  our 
lives.  It  must  change  us,  too.  Can't 
you  see  that?  Can't  you  see  how  we 
must  help  each  other  now?" 

"  Of  course,  it  will  change  every- 
thing," she  said  quietly. 

"  But  I  want  it  to  change  us,  Olga," 
he  prayed.  "  Listen,  dear,  listen!  We'll 
not  have  so  much  to  crowd  out  love  and 
the  peace  of  home,  without  which  no  life 
is  happy.  Let  us  come  nearer,  dear,  and 
be  to  each  other  now  what  we've  never 
been,  even  in  the  early  days  of  our  mar- 
riage." 

When  David  had  felt  himself  master 
of  his  fate,  a  plea  like  this  would  have 
been  impossible.  But  defeat  had  un- 
nerved and  humbled  him.  Olga,  what- 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          221 

ever  she  was,  was  all  he  had,  and  in 
broken  pride  he  was  weak  enough  to 
crave  a  tone,  a  look,  rich  in  the  felicity 
of  a  grief  shared.  He  had  not  realized 
his  loneliness  until  he  permitted  the 
want  to  take  expression,  but  once  un- 
leashed the  desire  for  sympathy  was 
like  the  grip  of  thirst. 

He  flung  himself  on  his  knees  beside 
her  and  held  her  close. 

"  Oh,  Olga,  my  dear,  come  to  me  — 
won't  you  ?  You've  seemed  to  need  me 
little,  you've  seemed  cold,  yet  you  loved 
me  in  the  beginning.  Our  life  had  a 
promise  then  it  hasn't  kept.  Can  we 
find  the  best  now,  Olga,  when  other 
things  are  gone?  Oh,  can  we  find  it?" 
he  cried  in  bitter  longing. 

The  words  thrilled  through  Olga. 
She  felt  an  awe  of  him.  His  soul,  it 
seemed,  a  stranger,  looked  through  his 
miserable  eyes,  awaiting  her  reply. 

"  You  loved  me  when  you  married 
me,  Olga.  My  wife,  you  love  me  now. 
Tell  me  so,  tell  me  so!" 

"  Why,  yes,  you  foolish  fellow,  I  love 


222          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

you,  of  course,"  she  said,  gently  touch- 
ing his  face  with  her  fingers. 

She  glanced  sideways  at  the  clock.  It 
was  half-past  nine.  Fortunately  she  had 
dressed  early,  as  the  scene  in  which  she 
was  to  appear  would  not  begin  until 
after  ten.  It  would  be  necessary  to  go 
soon,  yet  with  David  in  this  unusual 
mood  she  feared  to  speak  of  the  engage- 
ment which  he  evidently  did  not  think 
of,  despite  her  strange  costume. 

His  heavy  eyes  looked  into  hers.  He 
had  flung  away  his  unimpeachable  re- 
serve in  humbly  praying  for  her  love, 
and  Olga  dimly  realized  how  much  he 
must  have  suffered  before  this  possibility 
was  reached.  The  thought  even  crossed 
her  mind  that  it  would  be  marvellous 
and  might  be  an  agreeable  sensation  to 
love  a  man  as  her  husband  desired  to 
have  her  love  him,  so  that,  ruined,  she 
might  be  his  hope  and  exult  in  this, 
though  everything  else  was  lost.  There 
were  women  in  the  world  who  loved 
men  that  way.  She  had  often  heard  so. 

"  You  shall  have  what  you  want,  my 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          223 

dear;  yes,  just  as  much  as  I  can  give 
you,"  David  whispered,  his  head  on  her 
shoulder,  his  lips  on  her  throat.  "  It 
won't  be  so  hard  for  me  to  do  without 
things.  I'll  work,  too.  In  a  few  years  I 
may  make  some  lucky  stroke  —  and 
then  —  life  will  go  more  easily.  Just 
let's  stand  by  each  other  and  be  happy 
in  spite  of  all." 

"  In  spite  of  all,"  Olga  echoed,  an 
unnoticed  frown  passing  over  her  brow 
when  the  clock  struck  the  half  hour 
after  nine. 

"  You  didn't  know  the  suspense  I 
suffered  from,  Olga,"  David  went  on, 
finding  it  necessary  to  ease  his  reawak- 
ened pain  by  talking  of  it.  "  There  were 
days  when  I  saw  doom  sidling  to  me 
and  knew  in  my  soul  there  was  nothing 
to  be  done  to  keep  it  back  —  nights 
when  I  walked  the  floor  forecasting  the 
future.  Why,  when  the  terrible  truth 
came  upon  me  to-day  it  should  have 
been  no  stranger.  I  had  faced  it  many 
times  in  fancy.  But  I  must  have  hoped 
without  knowing  it,  for  it  was  a  blow." 


224          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

She  felt  him  shudder.  He  held  her 
more  closely  and  closed  his  eyes. 

"  I  am  so  dazed  and  sick  from  it  all," 
he  said,  "  but  now  the  worst  is  over,  for 
I've  told  you,  dear.  I  hated  to  tell  you. 
It  seemed  a  cruel  thing  to  do.  You 
don't  blame  me,  do  you  ?  " 

"  No,  you  couldn't  help  it,"  she  said 
softly. 

He  snatched  at  the  words  hopefully. 

"  I  couldn't,"  he  said,  "  oh,  indeed  I 
couldn't!  I  did  all  for  the  best.  Oh, 
yes,  I'm  glad  the  telling  is  over,  Olga! 
And  we've  made  a  compact,  haven't 
we?  We'll  stand  by  each  other  and 
love  each  other  better,  won't  we  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  yes." 

"Oh,  I  am  glad!" 

The  last  words  were  heavy  with  ex- 
haustion, and  a  hope  animated  Olga. 
She  kissed  him  on  the  lips  and  said  as 
if  she  were  speaking  to  a  child  : 

"  You  are  worn  out,  dear." 

"  It  seems  a  year  since  I  have  slept," 
said  David.  "  I  could  sleep  now." 

"  Suppose  I  call  Robbins  and  tell  him 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          225 

to  get  your  bath  and  bed  ready.  You 
need  a  good  sound  sleep  to  set  you  up. 
Shall  I  tell  him?" 

"  No,  no,"  he  said  drowsily.  "  Don't 
go  away  from  me." 

"  But  you  should  get  some  sleep, 
David.  You  look  —  awful." 

"  Let  me  stay  here.  You're  so  soft 
and  warm  and  sweet." 

With  a  sigh  he  laid  his  head  upon  her 
knee  and  lifted  her  cool  hand  to  his  eye- 
lids. She  passed  the  other  very  gently 
across  his  forehead  and  let  the  fingers 
move  lightly  in  his  hair. 

"  So !  "  he  murmured.  "  Oh,  this  is 
peace,  peace,  rest"  — 

The  room  became  silent.  Olga  looked 
from  David's  haggard  profile  on  her 
knee  to  the  hands  of  the  clock,  stealing 
on  relentlessly.  If  she  left  at  ten  sharp, 
she  would  be  in  time.  The  pupils  of  her 
eyes  had  grown  large  from  excitement. 
A  small,  intensely  scarlet  spot  burned 
unusually  on  her  cheeks.  She  felt  a 
desire  to  shriek,  to  get  into  the  air  at 
once.  But  with  the  remarkable  purpose 


226          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

which  had  never  failed  her  she  kept  the 
meaningless  smile  on  her  lips  as  she 
trailed  her  fingers  over  David's  fore- 
head. 

The  stillness  deepened.  There  were 
no  sounds  save  the  clock's  tick  and 
David's  even  breathing.  Sometimes  a 
cab  rattled  by.  A  laugh,  a  footstep,  the 
distant  call  of  a  newsboy  shouting  news 
of  the  election,  disturbed  without  dispel- 
ling the  dead  quiet. 

It  seemed  a  weary  time  to  Olga  before 
David's  hold  on  her  hand  that  shielded 
his  eyes  loosened.  She  watched  his 
fingers  slip  down  his  cheek,  his  arm  fall 
to  his  side.  She  bent  over  him  and 
listened  to  the  deep,  weighted  breaths 
telling  of  an  exhausted  body.  Her  task 
was  done.  Sleep,  as  inexorable  as  death, 
conquered  him  for  the  time. 

Olga  gently  lifted  his  head,  and  with 
no  sound  save  the  rustle  of  her  crisp 
skirt  slid  from  beneath  the  pressing 
shoulders.  With  the  same  caution  she 
lowered  his  cheek  to  the  leather  hollow 
of  the  chair.  She  stood  above  him, 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          227 

holding  her  breath,  waiting.  There 
was  nothing  to  fear.  The  face  on 
which  oblivion  had  set  its  mark  stared 
up  at  her.  She  gave  a  short  sigh 
of  satisfaction,  lifted  gloves  and  cloak, 
and  retreating  backward  reached  the 
door.  For  a  second  she  paused,  a  bit 
of  brilliant  coloring  against  the  curtains. 
They  closed  after  her,  and  David  was 
alone. 

As  if  at  that  moment  a  meddlesome 
spirit  had  whispered  the  truth  to  him 
in  a  dream,  he  sighed  deeply  and  throw- 
ing his  arms  upward  made  a  pillow  of 
them.  Unconsciously  his  body  had 
assumed  the  pose  of  one  who  had  said 
good-by  to  hope. 


Chapter  XXI 

AFTER  this  David  made  no  further 
attempts  to  "win  or  soften  Olga. 
When  a  servant  awakened  him  hours 
later,  he  had  accepted  not  only  the 
knowledge  of  her  desertion,  but  the  re- 
iterations of  his  sick  heart  :  "Useless! 
Hopeless!"  He  would  never  cheat 
himself  again.  Olga  had  been  wholly 
consistent  with  his  estimate  of  her. 
The  folly  of  hoping  too  much  had  been 
his. 

In  the  dark  days  following  this  ac- 
cepted realization  of  failure  he  was  cold 
and  silent.  He  was  gentle  with  Olga, 
but  he  lived  within  himself,  and  his 
heart  was  like  a  stone.  He  could  feel  a 
pity  for  her  occasional  outbreaks  of  dis- 
appointment and  rage,  but  a  capability 
of  actively  regretting  what  he  had  lost 

seemed  dead.     The  changes  following 
228 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          229 

within  two  months  found  him  com- 
plaisant. 

The  town-house  was  sold,  together 
with  everything  else,  and  for  the  time 
being,  at  Olga's  request,  they  made 
their  home  with  her  father.  When 
the  "  Citizen  "  passed  into  other  hands, 
David  retained  his  editorial  position 
as  an  employee. 

This  latter  sacrifice  was  a  bitter  one. 
Had  he  permitted  himself  to  dwell  upon 
it  his  hours  at  the  familiar  desk  would 
have  been  tinctured  with  anguish.  But 
he  had  a  force  in  him,  a  grandeur  of 
spirit,  that  made  defeat  imposing.  Even 
Anne  might  have  been  deceived  by  his 
unchanged  manner  but  for  the  one  night 
of  self-betrayal  when  she  had  stood  on 
the  bridge,  silent,  within  reach  of  his 
hand. 

She  went  frequently  to  Dr.  Ericsson's 
during  these  trying  days.  Life  there 
was  like  a  creature  which  had  received 
a  blinding  blow  between  the  eyes  and 
stood  dazed,  miserably  uncertain  on 
which  path  to  advance. 


230          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

Mrs.  Ericsson  had  a  grievance  against 
fate,  but  fate  was  too  impersonal  for 
attacks.  It  was  more  satisfying  to  pour 
her  regrets  and  accusations  into  ears 
which  heard.  She  was  like  a  gnat, 
never  stinging  deep,  never  alighting  on 
the  same  spot  twice,  yet  stinging  always. 

"  After  all  my  hopes,  my  work,  — 
look  where  we  are ! "  she  said  once, 
her  head  nodding  in  nervous  agitation, 
her  furtive  eyes  glancing  over  Olga's 
impassive  face  and  restful  body.  "  The 
nights  I've  lain  awake,  planning,  hop- 
ing! You  can't  say  I  left  anything  un- 
done. If  ever  a  woman  slaved  to 
settle  a  daughter  well "  — 

"  You  ought  to  be  satisfied  then," 
said  Olga  amiably;  "you  have  reason 
to  pat  yourself  on  the  back.  Why  do 
you  run  on  this  way?  No  one  is 
blaming  you." 

"  Oh,  if  you'd  only  married  old  Rod- 
ney, or  Baker!  "  she  said  desperately. 

"  One  a  fossil  and  the  other  a  beast!  " 

"  Yes,  that's  all  very  well,  but  they 
had  money  bound  down  solidly  the 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          231 

way  it  is  in  England.  I  never  han- 
kered for  an  American  fortune.  You 
must  admit  that.  They  are  here  to- 
day and  gone  to-morrow." 

Her  face  worked  for  a  moment  in 
silence.  If  Olga  had  met  with  some 
sudden,  frightful  death  her  mother 
could  not  have  contemplated  her  with 
more  despairing  anguish.  Her  folded 
hands  expressed  defeat.  She  had 
failed  in  her  life-work.  Pain,  igno- 
miny and  rancor  were  in  the  thought. 

"  Well,  make  the  best  of  things, 
mamma." 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  to  me !  Words  are 
easy.  The  best — there  is  no  best. 
It  is  all  bad,  horrible,  maddening. 
What  on  earth  was  David  Temple 
thinking  about?" 

"  You  don't  suppose  he  wanted  beg- 
gary, do  you  ?  "  asked  Olga  plaintively. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Olga.  Can't  I 
speak?  Can't  I  express  an  opinion 
without  your  flying  at  me  ?  " 

Olga  sighed,  and  relieved  her  impa- 
tience by  kicking  off  her  slipper. 


232          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

Mrs.  Ericsson  darted  to  the  door, 
but  paused  for  a  last  word. 

"  I  should  think  David  Temple 
would  hide  his  head!  Why,  he  has 
a  way  with  him  as  if  he  were  an  em- 
peror with  slaves  to  rush  out  at  the 
crook  of  his  finger.  Such  conceit! 
And  yet  he  couldn't  take  care  of  his 
money." 

"  It  requires  more  cleverness  and 
foresight,  my  dear,  to  do  that  in  these 
days  than  to  be  an  emperor,"  said  Olga, 
as  if  touching  on  a  subject  in  which 
she  had  no  personal  interest. 

"  Some  day  I'll  let  him  know  my 
opinion  of  the  whole  business." 

"  Have  you  done  anything  else  but 
bestow  your  opinion  on  him  and  every 
one  else,  gratis,  at  all  hours  of  the  day 
and  night,  since  our  change  of  tune? 
Now,  have  you?  Oh,  try  to  be  a  little 
original,  mamma!  I  wish  you  would." 

Mrs.  Ericsson  glared  at  Olga's  faintly 
smiling  face;  but  as  if  no  words  could 
express  her  wrath  she  skipped  out  and 
clapped  the  door  loudly  after  her. 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          233 

Anne  often  wondered  at  David's 
forbearance  for  Mrs.  Ericsson's  most 
spiteful  outbursts  were  levelled  at  him. 
Through  him,  in  some  way,  by  some- 
thing done  or  left  undone,  the  money 
for  which  she  had  worked  so  long 
with  Olga  as  a  bait  had  been  lost. 
Olga  was  the  wife  of  a  poor  man. 
There  was  nothing  worse  to  happen. 

In  the  meantime  Anne  found  herself 
studying  Olga.  She  mystified  her  more 
completely  every  day.  Her  spasms  of 
despair,  sharp  and  short-lived,  were 
over  now.  For  hours  she  would  lie 
dreaming,  her  hands  behind  her  head, 
the  faintest  smile  sometimes  fluttering 
around  her  lips.  Except  for  a  walk  or 
drive,  she  seemed  to  enjoy  letting  the 
days  brush  by  her.  Dinner-hour  often 
found  her  lounging  in  the  loose  gown 
of  the  morning.  She  never  spoke  of 
what  she  thought  so  constantly,  nor 
what  her  plans  were,  if  she  had  any. 
No  one  questioned  her,  David  least  of 
all.  She  showed  no  desire  to  found  a 
home  based  upon  their  changed  condi- 


234          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

tions.  He  was  willing  to  wait  until  she 
had  familiarized  herself  with  her  new 
future,  and  had  roused  herself  to  active 
interest  in  it. 

"  My  dear,  God  lets  some  of  us  live 
too  long,"  Dr.  Ericsson  said  to  Anne 
one  day  as  she  leaned  over  his  library 
chair.  "  I  am  one  of  these.  I  can't 
contemplate  the  lives  which  this  one 
roof  covers  without  a  feeling  of  dismay 
for  the  future.  Better  for  me  if  I  didn't 
live  to  see  that  which  I  must  see,  I  fear. 
Oh,  why  weren't  you  my  child  ?  "  he 
said,  with  longing.  "  You  have  a  heart, 
a  mind,  real  human  blood  goes  through 
your  arteries.  You  are  a  woman,  not  a 
finely  articulated  piece  of  flesh.  You 
understand  me?  I  wish  you  were  my 
child." 

"  Uncle,  why  do  you  say  this  ?  You 
make  me  afraid  of  something.  Has 
anything  happened  you  haven't  told  me 
about?" 

"  I'm  afraid  of  Olga,"  he  said  shortly. 

"Why?  She  seems  not  to  care  any 
more,"  replied  Anne,  while  she  knew 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          235 

he  was  about  to  express  some  of  the 
fear  she  had  felt  without  understand- 
ing. 

"  That's  just  it:  she  seems  not  to  care. 
But  she  does,  and  I  know  her."  He  sat 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  veinous  hand 
as  it  thoughtfully  tapped  the  table.  "At 
least  when  I  say  I  know  Olga  I  go  too 
far.  But  I  know  the  signs  of  storm  in 
her.  She  is  silent,  thinking  —  of  what? 
She  writes  a  lot  of  letters.  She  always 
goes  out  alone.  I'm  afraid  of  her,"  he 
said  with  a  sigh. 

One  gray  December  day  near  Christ- 
mas, Anne  found  herself  at  twilight  in 
a  street  going  eastward  from  Union 
square.  She  had  come  to  purchase  an 
etching  which  a  few  days  before  had 
attracted  her  in  the  window  of  a  dusty 
basement  shop;  it  was  a  study  of  a 
Greek  girl  in  profile,  leaning  on  the  rail 
of  a  seat  in  an  ancient  theatre;  flower- 
crowned,  with  fan  of  peacock's  feathers 
on  her  knee,  she  seemed  pensively 
waiting  for  the  first  sonorous  line  of  an 
Athenian  chorus.  The  idea  of  possess- 


236          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

ing  it  had  stayed  with  Anne  for  days, 
and  she  felt  happy  as  she  watched 
the  near-sighted  old  dealer  wrapping 
it  up. 

She  was  in  no  mood  to  hurry  away. 
In  the  shadowy  place  where  she  sat, 
old  age  and  dust  were  masters,  a 
slow-tongued  clock  weightily  recorded 
the  ever-same  moments,  and  on  the 
street  above  the  basement  steps  a 
human  tide  flowed  that  scarcely  had 
its  equal  for  variety  in  any  other  city 
on  earth.  Waves  of  Bohemianism, 
vagabondism,  beggary,  mingled  there, 
accompanied  by  a  sweeping  gamut 
of  human  sounds  and  coloring  stolen 
from  many  lands. 

As  she  waited,  her  elbow  on  the 
counter,  her  eyes  fell  upon  a  woman 
descending  the  steps  of  a  house  op- 
posite. It  was  Olga.  She  walked 
hurriedly  to  a  waiting  cab.  The 
air  of  the  fine  world  about  her,  her 
radiant  face  seen  in  that  unkempt, 
ill-flavored  byway  suggested  a  pris- 
matic bubble  on  a  murky  tide. 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          237 

Anne  went  toward  the  door,  but 
paused  as  she  saw  a  man,  bare-headed, 
pen  in  hand,  evidently  a  clerk,  hurry 
down  the  steps  of  the  house  Olga  had 
just  left,  and  speak  to  her.  She  went 
back  with  him  and  vanished  through 
the  open  doorway. 

"  She's  very  beautiful  —  ay,  isn't 
she  ?  "  murmured  the  old  dealer  over 
Anne's  shoulder.  "  There  isn't  a  face  in 
all  my  portfolios  to  compare  with  hers. 
Those  heads  by  Greuze,  that  woman 
by  Botticelli,  the  Lady  Hamilton  por- 
trait with  the  scarf  around  her  head,  — 
why,  even  the  originals  of  these,  and 
I've  seen  them  all,  are  nothing  to  her. 
You  think  so  too,  don't  you,  miss  ?  "  he 
asked,  enthusiasm  in  his  dim  eyes. 

"You  mean  the  lady  who  has  just 
gone  into  that  house  again  ?  " 

"  I've  grown  so  that  I  watch  for  her 
coming,"  he  said. 

Anne's  heart  sank. 

"  She  comes  to  this  street  often  ?  " 

"  Two  or  three  times  a  week."  He 
rubbed  his  dry  palms  together.  "  Oh,  I 


238          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

am  an  admirer  of  beauty  in  any  form,  — 
man,  woman,  child,  or  horse  or  dog, — 
and  that  woman's  face  makes  me  feel 
young  again.  She's  a  beautiful  being," 
he  concluded,  with  old-fashioned,  awed 
respect. 

For  the  moment  Anne  could  not 
speak.  Her  eyes  rested  on  the  cab 
waiting  for  Olga,  as  she  pondered  on 
the  probable  meaning  of  these  secret 
visits,  disclosed  to  her  by  chance. 
There  was  something  sinister  in  them. 
But  she  must  know  more,  she  must 
know  all. 

"  That  looks  like  a  business  house  of 
some  sort,"  she  ventured. 

"  So  it  is,  one  of  those  theatrical 
buildings,  full  of  managers,  agents,  or 
something.  In  fact,  the  whole  street 
just  bristles  with  them." 

Anne  made  an  unceremonious  exit. 
Crossing  the  street  just  as  Olga  appeared 
again  on  the  threshold,  they  came  face 
to  face  under  the  street  lamp  in  the 
gusty  twilight,  now  almost  gone. 

The    faintest   frown    crossed    Olga's 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand  239 

brow,  the  faintest  color  quivered  under 
the  white  skin,  and  then  retreated.  Her 
voice  betrayed  her;  she  was  a  little 
breathless  from  surprise. 

"  I  never  dreamed  of  seeing  you  here, 
Anne,"  she  said.  "  Will  you  get  in  and 
come  with  me  to  dinner?" 

"  I  can't  to-night.  But  if  you  have 
time  you  might  take  me  home  first.  It 
wouldn't  be  much  out  of  your  way." 

"  Of  course  not,"  and  she  gave  the 
order. 

Nothing  was  said,  and  the  cab  turned 
into  Broadway.  The  silence  was  elo- 
quent with  waiting. 

Olga  felt  Anne's  eyes  wistfully  con- 
templating her.  "  Well,  don't  keep 
your  thoughts  to  yourself,"  she  said  at 
last,  with  a  nod  and  smile  ;  "  I'm  sure 
they'll  prove  interesting." 

In  response  Anne  slipped  her  arm 
around  her  waist  and  held  her  closely. 

"  I've  no  right  to  speak  to  you,  Olga, 
about  your  affairs,  but  I  must  risk  seem- 
ing presumptuous,"  she  said.  "  By  acci- 
dent I  saw  you  come  out  of  that  house 


240          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

to-day.  The  man  in  the  picture-shop 
told  me  you  go  there  often.  I  know, 
too,  the  meaning  of  your  visits.  Prom- 
ise me  you'll  give  up  this  mad  idea. 
Promise  me,  Olga." 

A  smile  rippled  over  Olga's  face. 

"  Why,  you're  white  and  trembling, 
you  silly,  passionate  Anne.  What  mad 
idea?  What  in  the  world,  you  foolish 
girl,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Don't  go  on  the  stage.  Don't,  my 
dear,  don't.  It  would  crush  David's 
pride  to  the  dust  to  have  you  go.  Can't 
you  see  ?  Why,  the  world  would  think 
he  had  sent  you  to  retrieve  his  fortunes; 
it  would  seem  as  if  his  ill-luck  had 
forced  you  there.  No  proud  man  could 
endure  the  position  "  — 

"David!  David!  Always  David!" 
and  Olga  looked  at  her  sharply.  "  Is 
there  no  one  in  the  world  to  be  consid- 
ered but  him  ?  " 

"  Your  mother.  You  know  how  she 
would  suffer." 

In  her  earnestness  she  laid  her  cheek 
against  Olga's. 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          241 

"  Will  you  listen  to  me  —  will  you  ?  " 

Olga  withdrew  Anne's  arm,  but  held 
her  fingers  in  a  light  clasp. 

"You  are  such  a  woman,  Anne  ! 
How  you  leap  to  conclusions  !  My 
dear,  does  it  follow  that  I  am  going  on 
the  stage  because  to  break  the  monotony 
of  such  days  as  I  have  now  I  go  occa- 
sionally to  hear  a  manager  make  tempt- 
ing offers  which  I  haven't  the  smallest 
intention  of  accepting?"  and  she  settled 
herself  more  cosily  against  Anne.  "  I'm 
a  vain  creature.  There's  no  use  ignor- 
ing the  truth.  It's  a  comfort  to  hear 
myself  called  a  genius,  a  modern  Peg 
Woffington,  and  all  the  rest.  It  gives  a 
sense  of  power — it's  refreshing.  If  I 
cheat  myself  and  cheat  the  manager,  it's 
a  pleasure  to  me  and  seriously  hurts  no 
one." 

"  But  suppose  in  the  end  these  people 
might  persuade  you,  Olga,  might  dazzle 
you?" 

"  My  dear,  I'm  not  a  fool.  To  step 
from  society  to  the  professional  stage 
would  be  like  challenging  every  narrow- 


242          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

minded  person  to  hiss  at  you.  You 
might  be  gifted  of  God,  but  no  one 
would  believe  it,  and  every  critic  would 
endeavor  to  be  witty  at  your  expense." 

She  nodded  and  looked  very  wise. 

"  No,  I've  gotten  over  the  madness  I 
once  had.  Experience  has  made  me 
wise,  sadder  too.  I  see  my  future  very 
clearly  before  me,  and  I'm  gradually 
drifting  to  it,  although  I  couldn't  accept 
it  at  first.  I  shall  have  to  chasten  my 
desires,  cultivate  a  penchant  for  a  com- 
fortable, quiet  life  on  a  few  thousand 
a  year  with  David,  found  a  family,  and 
take  to  bonnets  permanently.  Oh,  I 
see  it,"  she  said,  with  semi-humorous 
pathos.  "  I  am  becoming  resigned 
quietly,  in  my  own  fashion.  This  visit 
to  Zerand,  the  great  business  Napoleon 
of  the  drama,  was,  I  promise  you,  my 
last  tangential  flight  after  a  bit  of  ex- 
citement." 

She  snapped  her  fingers  like  a  fare- 
well to  fancy  and  began  to  talk  of  other 
things.  Anne  felt  a  sensation  of  relief. 
After  all,  it  was  not  as  bad  as  she  had 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          243 

feared.  Olga  had  simply  been  feeding 
her  vanity  on  crumbs.  She  could 
understand  the  pleasure  it  was  to  her 
fanciful,  shallow  mind  to  steal  away  to 
these  private  interviews  in  a  back  street, 
hear  herself  extolled  as  a  genius,  and 
listen  to  highly  colored  plans  she  dared 
not  countenance.  But  a  little  while  ago 
she  had  paid  extravagantly  for  glitter 
and  show  of  first-class  quality:  to  have 
her  beauty  admired  in  a  theatrical  office 
by  a  puffy-eyed  manager,  and  feel  a 
ghostly  wave  of  the  lost  excitement, 
was  evidently  but  the  survival  of  the 
old  instincts  under  forlorn  conditions. 

Olga's  kiss  at  parting  was  childish 
and  tender. 

"  Never  breathe  that  you  discovered 
my  silly  dissipation,"  she  said,  adding 
with  a  laugh,  "  David  would  be  angry 
with  me  —  shocked;  and  you  know  his 
emotions  must  be  preserved  in  tissue 
paper,  so  they  retain  the  gloss." 

The  door  of  the  cab  closed  sharply, 
the  lamplight  flickered  on  her  white 
brow  and  vivid  lips  as  she  looked  back. 


244          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

It  seemed  to  Anne  that  just  for  a  breath's 
space  a  look  of  defiance  and  determi- 
nation crossed  her  eyes.  It  was  surely 
fancy. 

During  several  weeks  following,  life 
at  the  old  house  took  on  a  more  cheer- 
ful color. 

Olga  ceased  dreaming  and  seemed 
satisfied.  She  was  often  the  gayest  of 
companions  and  assumed  a  whimsical 
tyranny  over  David  vastly  preferable  to 
her  settled  indifference.  Sometimes 
during  these  days  her  eyes  had  an  al- 
most celestial  light  in  them,  her  smile 
was  confiding. 

David  almost  dared  hope  again  for 
that  which  he  had  decided  could  never 
be  his.  He  found  himself  wondering 
if  she  could  be  content  with  the  little 
he  now  had,  after  all;  if  in  her  own 
fashion,  which  never  could  be  antici- 
pated, she  would  come  to  help  him, 
love  him  a  little.  He  put  the  thought 
from  him,  yet  knew  he  was  hoping;  and 
he  waited. 

In  January,  in  the  busy  morning  hours, 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          245 

a  note  was  brought  to  Anne  at  the  office. 
It  was  from  David  and  very  short  : 

I  hate  to  send  you  this,  dear  Anne.  You  have 
been  drawn  into  my  misfortunes  too  much  of 
late.  Forgive  it,  but  I  must  come  to  you.  Olga 
has  gone  away  at  the  head  of  a  theatrical  company. 
The  blow  has  prostrated  Mrs.  Ericsson,  and  she's 
dangerously  ill.  Can  you  go  to  the  house  when 
you  get  this  ? 

Anne  sat  with  the  letter  in  her  hands, 
conscious  only  of  unbelief  in  the  words 
written  there.  The  woman  who  had 
done  this  thing,  having  smiled  and  lied 
harmoniously  as  she  made  her  unhur- 
ried way  to  the  goal  of  her  desires,  be- 
came suddenly  hateful.  Anne  could  not 
judge  of  her  by  herself  or  measure  her 
by  familiar  rules.  Comprehension  was 
beyond  her. 

"  A  liar!"  she  said  aloud.  "  A  cruel 
liar!" 

The  noisy  streets  might  have  been  a 
desert  for  all  heed  she  took  of  them  as 
she  hurried  to  Dr.  Ericsson's.  She  was 
absorbed  in  her  thoughts.  She  knew 
how  the  papers  would  seize  on  this  de- 


246          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

parture  and  flourish  the  real  and  imagi- 
nary details  of  David's  private  life  under 
big  headings ;  how  ably  Olga  would  assist 
them.  Soon  her  face  would  stare  from 
every  shop-window  and  decorate  to- 
bacco signs;  she  would  be  exploited 
by  every  bombastic  venture  dear  to 
the  managerial  heart.  She  was  not  one 
to  succeed  by  the  sovereignty  of  talent 
alone,  and  retire  from  the  limelight  to 
•privacy  as  exclusive  as  a  queen's.  In- 
stinct and  education  made  her  delight 
in  the  clamor  of  brass.  Her  mother 
had  been  eager  to  advertise  her  socially: 
she  would  trumpet  herself  profession- 
ally. 

When  Anne  entered  her  aunt's  bed- 
room, a  pang  of  remorse  shot  through 
her  heart.  Mrs.  Ericsson's  nervous 
vigilance  and  activity  had  often  irri- 
tated her,  but  now  her  outflung  arms  ex- 
pressed apathy,  her  small  shrunken  face 
was  almost  hidden  in  the  bulging  pillow, 
and  her  eyes  stared  at  one  spot.  She 
was  in  a  sort  of  syncope.  It  seemed  bru- 
tal that  all  the  physician's  efforts  were  to 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          247 

bring  her  out  of  it  to  a  realization  of 
Olga's  decisive  arrow,  which  had  struck 
at  and  levelled  even  the  ruins  of  her 
hopes. 

It  was  dusk  before  the  nurse  came 
and  Anne  could  leave  the  sick-room. 
She  was  tired  and  her  head  ached.  In 
the  hall  she  met  a  maid  and  asked  for 
a  cup  of  tea. 

"  Shall  I  fetch  it  to  the  doctor's  study, 
Miss  Garrick?  Mr.  Temple's  there 
now.  He's  just  got  in.  Perhaps  he'd 
like  a  cup  of  tea  too." 

"  Yes,  and  Dr.  Ericsson  —  hasn't  he 
come  back  yet?" 

"  Not  yet,  miss." 

There  was  not  a  sound  in  the  house 
as  Anne  went  down  the  stairs,  nor  were 
the  lamps  yet  lit  in  the  study,  but  there 
was  bright  firelight  coming  out  in  a 
broadening  track  across  the  open  door- 
way. When  she  reached  the  threshold 
she  saw  David  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the 
big  table,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his 
eyes  on  the  fire. 

She  reached  his   side  before   he  was 


248          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

aware  of  her  presence;  when  he  turned 
and  saw  the  firelight  making  her  dark 
eyes  still  more  mysterious,  sending  its 
flickerings  over  her  sensitive  lips  and 
the  dusk  masses  of  her  hair,  a  look  of 
pain  changed  his  face*  Truth  and  sym- 
pathy were  in  her  full  glance.  It  was 
long  since  a  woman's  eyes  had  looked  at 
him  so. 

"You're  so  pale,"  he  said  gently, 
taking  her  hand.  "  I'm  sorry  I  had  to 
send  for  you,  Anne,  but  Mrs.  Ericsson 
needs  a  woman  near  her.  Don't  you 
think  so  ?  But  as  I  told  you  in  my  note, 
I  feel  like  a  brute  dragging  you  into 
this  wretched  house." 

His  fingers  loosened  their  hold,  and 
he  walked  into  the  shadows  and  out 
again.  There  was  a  look  of  endurance 
on  his  face.  He  had  never  seemed 
braver,  and  never  had  his  unlikeness  to 
Donald  stood  out  more  clearly.  She 
could  always  yearn  over  the  misfort- 
unes of  the  latter.  For  David  she  could 
feel  only  a  sad  sense  of  wrath  against 
the  inevitable  crushing  him.  He  was 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          249 

a  man  to  dominate  his  sorrows  and  carry 
them  unshared. 

"  How  is  Mrs.  Ericsson?"    he  asked. 

"  Still  unconscious.  It's  so  strange  to 
see  her  lying  quiet." 

"  It's  just  as  well,"  he  said  sadly. 
"  Bitterness  is  waiting  for  her,  poor 
woman ! "  Then  he  added  abruptly, 
•"  Have  you  seen  the  papers  to-night?  " 

"No;  is  it"  — 

"  Yes,  it's  everywhere.  They  all  have 
it,  except,  of  course,  the  (  Citizen.'  It 
hurts  me  so,  Anne  !  Oh,  I'm  a  fool  to 
let  it,  I  know  that!  I'll  have  to  endure 
more  sensational  reading  by  and  by,  no 
doubt." 

Anne  sat  silent,  and  he  turned  to  her 
again. 

"  Haven't  you  heard  the  story,  Anne  ? 
It's  a  pity,"  he  said,  with  a  dismal  smile. 
"  You  have  been  cheated  out  of  a  tooth- 
some morsel  of  gossip.  It's  the  dinner 
topic  at  plenty  of  houses  to-night." 

He  sat  down  on  the  table-edge  again 
and  leaned  forward,  his  hands  on  his 
knees. 


250          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

"  Olga  went  away  three  days  ago  to 
pay  a  visit  to  one  of  her  former  inti- 
mates. She  was  to  be  gone  a  week. 
Last  night  I  received  a  letter  from  her. 
It  was  as  serene  as  her  eyes.  She  was 
going,  she  said,  to  make  a  great  name 
for  herself  on  the  stage.  The  company 
she  headed  would  play  only  old  come- 
dies, was  going  straight  to  San  Fran- 
cisco, from  there  to  Australia,  and  would 
appear  next  fall  in  New  York.  If  I 
wished,  she  would  in  this  way  set  me 
on  my  feet  again.  This  was  her  naive 
suggestion.  If  I  objected,  some  Western 
court  would  sever  our  bonds  on  the 
simple  charge  of  desertion.  But  she 
must  persist  under  any  circumstances 
in  using  my  name  merely  because  of 
its  business  value,  since  she  had  already 
made  it  famous  in  society  and  on  the 
amateur  stage.  Probably  this  was  the 
only  time  she  viewed  the  loss  of  my 
fortune  complacently,  since  it  would 
help  to  give  a  commercial  strength  to 
the  name  Temple  when  seen  in  capitals 
on  a  bill-board.  Temple !  —  the  name  of 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          251 

the  beauty  stepping  from  the  drawing- 
room  to  the  footlights,  the  name  of  the 
man  who  went  down  under  the  thunder- 
bolt of  ruin !  Why,  there's  meat  for  a 
reporter  in  the  two  syllables.  Don't 
you  think  so  ?  They  may  even  illustrate 
me,"  he  laughed,  his  eyes  bright  with 
contempt.  "  The  letter  ended  with  the 
politic  hope  that  I'd  be  sensible  and  not 
kick  up  a  row.  Well,  I  haven't.  I've 
been  sensible.  But  I  spent  part  of  to- 
day in  becoming  better  acquainted  with 
my  wife.  I  was  curious  to  know  how 
she  developed  her  plans.  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  learned." 

He  stood  up  before  Anne  and  struck 
his  finger  with  emphasis  on  his  open 
palm. 

"  From  the  hour  she  knew  of  my 
failure  she  has  covertly,  determinedly, 
bent  every  effort  toward  the  taking  of 
this  step.  The  manager  would  not  star 
her  without  heavy  security.  Then  Olga 
showed  what  resources  lay  within  her. 
Smedley  Joyce  and  a  few  others  among 
her  old  followers  have  at  her  sugges- 


252          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

tion  backed  the  undertaking  as  a  good 
business  venture.  They  knew  all  about 
it.  And  I,  ignorant,  blind,  sat  opposite 
Joyce  at  the  Harvard  alumni  dinner 
the  other  night.  I  didn't  dream  I  was 
facing  my  wife's  i  angel.'  You  don't 
know  what  that  means.  Neither  did  I 
until  to-day.  The  man  who  backs  a 
play  earns  that  heavenly  title.  Smedley 
Joyce  is  at  present  an  i  angel,'  though  a 
stout  one,  I  grant." 

(t  What  will  you  do  ?  "  asked  Anne 
heavily.  "Will  you  bring  her  back? 
You  might  perhaps." 

"  I  shall  not  try,"  he  said  clearly. 
"  I'll  do  nothing  but  endeavor  to  live  as 
if  I'd  never  seen  her.  It  won't  be  hard." 
A  dark  look  crossed  his  face.  "  If 
circumstances  could  by  any  possibility 
arise  in  the  future  tending  to  soften  me 
toward  her,  to  make  me  a  fool  again,  I'd 
only  have  to  think  of  this  one  thing: 
her  gentlest  mood,  most  impulsive  ca- 
ress, and  her  only  promise  for  a  happy 
future  home  together  were  given  the 
night  before  she  went  away,  when  her 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          253 

railroad  ticket  was  in  her  purse.  This 
thought  would  make  me  a  stone." 

Anne  watched  him  thoughtfully  and 
understood  him.  Olga  had  practised  a 
cheap  deception  from  first  to  last.  Her 
unmasking  had  only  aroused  disgust 
and  bitterness  in  him.  To  feel  either 
grief  or  hate  for  anything  as  gaudily 
false  as  this  woman  would  be  like  play- 
ing some  of  the  most  despairing  strains 
in  "  Faust "  on  a  penny  trumpet. 

The  maid  entered  with  tea,  and  they 
had  it  in  the  firelight  while  the  shadows 
played  between  them.  Anne's  heart 
beat  painfully  and  hard.  David  began 
to  feel  a  peace  enfold  him.  This  was 
their  first  talk  alone  since  the  winter 
night  when  he  had  told  her  of  his  love 
for  Olga.  Then  all  the  tenor  of  his  ecs- 
tatic confidence  was,  "I  love  her."  To- 
night his  embittered  spirit  had  voiced 
a  different  truth :  "  She  has  gone,  lei- 
surely and  coldly,  out  of  my  life  forever. 
She  brought  nothing  into  it:  she  takes 
nothing  away." 


Chapter  XXII 

ANNE  had  entered  Dr.  Ericsson's 
house  as  a  member  of  the  family. 
No  one  had  urged  her  to  go,  but  she 
had  come  to  see  the  necessity  of  it. 
After  a  long  illness  her  aunt  had  come 
back  to  only  a  quiescent  consciousness 
of  life  and  with  body  partly  paralyzed. 
The  reins  of  government  had  fallen 
from  her  hands  forever,  and  a  woman 
was  needed  by  her  side.  Anne  did  not 
renounce  work  to  be  with  her,  but  she 
condensed  it  into  as  few  hours  as  possi- 
ble and  spent  her  leisure  in  the  Waverly- 
place  house. 

She  had  found  it  hard  to  be  unselfish 
and  go,  particularly  when  she  knew 
David  had  insisted  on  remaining  there 
and  assuming  the  duties  of  a  son  toward 
the  old  man  he  loved  and  the  woman  he 
pitied.  She  had  struggled  with  her  own 
254 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          255 

heart  and  had  beaten  down  her  pride 
only  after  a  hard  fight.  Daily  compan- 
ionship with  David  Temple  was  the 
last  thing  in  the  world  she  desired,  and 
she  loved  her  free  life  as  she  loved  the 
sunlight.  But  there  was  nothing  else  to 
be  done.  Mrs.  Ericsson's  apathy  was  a 
plea  mingling  with  the  voice  within  her 
which  commanded  in  the  name  of  duty. 
If  only  selfishly,  for  her  own  peace,  she 
obeyed  it. 

More  than  a  year  had  passed.  It  had 
grown  to  be  a  right  and  natural  thing  to 
Anne  to  meet  David  at  breakfast  and 
pour  coffee  for  him,  to  watch  for  his 
coming  at  night.  At  first  this  had 
seemed  unbearable,  impossible,  but 
habit  is  coercing  and  inflexible  and 
women  are  adaptable.  She  even  man- 
aged not  to  be  discontented,  though  she 
lived  in  a  dull  atmosphere,  in  a  quiet 
house  where  three  disappointed  lives 
drifted  on. 

Olga's  name  was  never  heard.  Mrs. 
Ericsson,  calm,  almost  mindless,  sat  all 
day  by  the  window  of  her  room,  her 


256          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

eyes  fastened  on  the  street.  She  seemed 
watching  for  some  one;  she  always 
looked  out.  The  attitude  had  become 
mechanical  long  after  a  realization  of  the 
reason  for  it  had  died.  It  was  the  expres- 
sion of  the  passive  desire  in  her  maimed 
brain  to  watch  for  Olga's  return.  David 
worked  harder  than  ever,  apparently 
unchanged  save  that  he  was  more  ret- 
icent. Dr.  Ericsson's  practice  was  but 
a  name,  and  he  looked  an  aged  man. 

As  was  expected,  the  newspapers 
had  made  a  sensational  heroine  of  Olga. 
Soon  after  her  departure  photographs 
of  her  from  San  Francisco  had  found 
their  way  to  Broadway  windows  and 
reported  interviews  with  her  had  been 
wired  to  New  York  papers.  These 
were  highly  colored  and  probably  false. 
Gossip  tossed  her  name  like  a  shuttle- 
cock from  one  to  another. 

As  an  actress  she  had  not  met  with 
emphatic  success.  At  first  people  went 
to  see  her  in  great  crowds  because 
she  was  the  well-known  Eastern  belle; 
they  went  a  second  time  because  she 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          257 

was  a  beauty.  Soon  her  vogue  lessened. 
It  is  one  thing  to  be  a  rich  woman  dab- 
bling in  a  profession,  another  thing  to 
enter  the  market  and  strive  with  prac- 
tical workers.  The  criticism  aroused 
was  different  too.  Olga  had  found  this 
out.  She  had  been  too  ambitious. 
With  all  her  natural  talent  she  was  still 
unformed,  really  fit  only  to  interpret 
the  rudiments  of  her  art,  and  what  had 
seemed  praise-compelling  in  fashion- 
able New  York,  where  gloved  hands 
awarded  the  affirmation  of  success, 
was  merely  promising,  sometimes  im- 
pertinent, where  people  paid  money  at 
a  box-office  to  see  a  stranger. 

Many  things  that  must  have  stung 
David  were  said  of  her  in  every  paper 
except  his  own.  But  even  to  Anne's 
eyes  he  was  impassive.  He  went  into 
the  world,  particularly  the  society  of 
men  and  clubs,  as  much  as  formerly, 
and  those  who  found  pleasure  in  dis- 
cussing his  affairs  behind  his  back  were 
careful  to  read  the  hint  in  his  attitude, 
and  offer  neither  sympathy  nor  advice. 


258          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

May  was  almost  spent.  At  the  cor- 
ners of  the  streets  barrel  organs  churned 
antiquated  love-songs;  sparrows  built 
their  nests  in  the  weakly  budding  trees ; 
wagons  heaped  with  growing  plants 
halted  at  area  gates;  the  crannies  be- 
tween the  paving-stones  held  spears  of 
grass  as  strengthless  as  the  down  on  a 
boy's  lip. 

On  a  warm  night  Anne  took  a  han- 
som to  one  of  the  big  studio  buildings 
on  upper  Fifth  avenue,  to  attend  a  din- 
ner given  by  a  celebrated  artist  just 
over  from  Paris  on  a  visit  to  his  native 
land. 

A  brilliant  fourteen  sat  down  at  the 
round  table,  and  she  found  herself  be- 
tween the  athletic  young  novelist  who 
took  her  in  and  an  Australian  capitalist. 
As  dessert  came  on  there  was  a  lull  in 
the  entertaining  nonsense  and  piquant 
discussions  between  herself  and  her 
dinner  companion,  and  she  listened  to 
the  scraps  of  conversation  around  her. 
The  name  "  Temple,"  spoken  in  soft, 
amused,  scornful  accents  by  the  Austra- 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          259 

lian,  reached  her.  His  big,  bald  head 
was  turned  from  her,  but  owing  to  his 
slow,  distinct  utterance  she  could  hear 
almost  every  word.  He  was  speaking 
of  Olga. 

"  They  fade  quickly,  those  very  pale 
blondes,  don't  you  think  ?  Excitement 
and  what  not  have  spoiled  a  very  pretty 
woman  in  Mrs.  Temple.  A  shocking 
failure  she  is,  too.  In  Melbourne, 
where  she  tried  to  force  Parthenia 
down  our  throats,  I  assure  you  she  was 
laughed  at.  A  playful  little  kitten  style 
of  woman  in  a  comedy  is  as  much  as  she 
should  have  attempted.  These  people 
never  can  measure  their  ability.  After 
years  and  years  of  work  and  work  she 
might  have  attempted  strong  parts,  but, 
Lord,  not  now  !  " 

"  She  was  considered  a  great  beauty 
here  and  a  very  good  actress,"  came 
from  the  listener  on  the  other  side. 

"  Of  course,  of  course.  I  fancy  when 
she  had  everything  her  own  way  and 
didn't  have  to  fag  she  was  healthy  and 
probably  a  beauty.  But  she's  down  on 


260          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

her  luck.  She's  anaemic,  too,  or  that 
dead-white  glassy  skin  of  hers  means 
arsenic  "  — 

"  Oh,  I  assure  you,  no  !  She  was 
always  as  white  as  milk." 

"  Then  she's  organically  unsound, 
bloodless,  and  she  hasn't  the  stuff  in 
her  to  last.  They  say  she  has  hys- 
terics like  insanity,  and  her  temper's 
frightful.  I  know  for  a  positive  fact 
she  boxed  her  coachman's  ears  in  Mel- 
bourne." 

"  Really  !  And  she  always  seemed 
so  amiable  !  I  can't  fancy  her  even 
disturbed." 

"  Disappointment,  my  dear  lady,  is 
like  a  blistering  sun  on  the  sweetest 
milk  —  sure  to  turn  it  sour,  eh  ? " 

"  She  appeared  in  London  last  month. 
The  reports  say  she  was  a  failure 
there." 

"  One  hasn't  much  '  go  '  playing  a 
losing  game.  It  will  be  a  good  thing 
for  the  society  woman  who  talks  and 
thinks  nothing  but  stage,  stage,  stage, 
to  remember  one  thing  —  the  vast  dif- 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          261 

ference  between  playing  to  the  big, 
cold-hearted  public,  whose  eyes  are  all 
strabismus,  and  playing  to  Tom,  Dick, 
and  Harry,  with  whom  she  has  dined, 
flirted,  or  had  five  o'clock  tea.  The 
public  is  a  bull-dog.  If  it  doesn't  get 
what  it  wants  or  expects,  it  bites." 

During  her  drive  home  the  words 
she  had  heard  stayed  with  Anne,  but 
insisted  on  remaining  beyond  her  be- 
lief. Olga  pitied,  ridiculed,  faded,  — 
she  who  had  been  so  secure,  so  envied! 
And  but  little  more  than  a  year  had 
gone  ! 

She  sat  with  wide,  speculative  eyes, 
watching  the  sentinel-like  lamps  flash 
past,  and  tried  to  picture  Olga  as  she 
had  been  described.  Failure  had  come 
and  bitterness  had  followed.  Exhaust- 
ing travel,  nervous  days  and  nights,  and 
the  pains  of  wounded  vanity  had  done 
the  rest.  Prosperity  and  confidence  in 
herself  had  been  the  qualities  forming 
a  foundation  for  Olga's  winning  un- 
concern and  amiability.  With  defeat, 
with  struggle,  the  real  nature  had  peered 


262          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

like  an  ugly  face  from  behind  a  mask 
and  left  her  a  bitter,  turbulent  woman, 
a  logical  development  of  the  peevish 
child  who  scratched. 

The  house  was  wrapped  in  slumber 
when  Anne  reached  it.  But  she  knew 
by  the  light  left  burning  in  the  library 
that  David  had  not  yet  returned.  For 
several  days  she  had  only  seen  him  in 
the  mornings. 

She  went  to  her  aunt's  room  to  see 
if  she  slept  or  needed  anything.  The 
light  burned  low  and  made  big  shad- 
ows among  the  bed-curtains,  the  air 
was  sweet  with  the  odor  of  lilacs,  and 
a  cool  wind  swept  like  a  sigh  through 
the  place. 

Anne  tiptoed  to  the  bed  and  looked 
at  the  small,  huddled  figure,  the  hands 
lying  palms  upward  on  the  counter- 
pane, the  face  turned  sideways,  resting 
on  the  shoulder  in  the  attitude  of 
watching  which  had  become  habitual. 
She  brushed  a  lock  of  hair  from  the 
wet  brow,  placed  the  big  fan,  which 
had  fallen,  within  reach  of  her  hand, 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          263 

and  crept  out,  Olga's  face  haunting 
her. 

A  few  nights  later  a  letter  came  to 
Anne  by  the  last  post.  It  was  from 
London,  and  she  recognized  Olga's 
handwriting.  It  was  the  first  she  had 
received  since  her  departure.  She 
carried  it  up  to  her  own  room,  and 
even  after  the  door  was  closed  she 
hesitated  with  it  in  her  hand,  fearing 
what  was  written  within  it. 

When  she  drew  it  from  its  cover  she 
read  these  words: 

MY  DEAR  ANNE  :  You've  had  very  hard 
thoughts  of  me,  I  know.  You  never  wrote  to 
me  yourself,  and  in  the  brief  notes  received  from 
father  there  was  no  message  from  you.  How- 
ever, I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  let  my  humiliation 
brush  all  these  thoughts  from  your  mind,  for  I  am 
humiliated,  and  it  is  bitter  to  say  it,  I  can  tell 
you.  I've  failed.  There's  no  use  mincing  words 
or  beating  around  the  bush.  I've  failed,  and  I'm 
ill,  very  ill.  Nobody  seems  to  know  just  what's 
the  matter  with  me,  and  I  don't  much  care.  I'm 
probably  dying,  and  that  doesn't  matter  either. 
But  just  now  I've  a  longing  to  go  home.  I  have 
heart  enough  for  that.  I  know  mamma  is  all 
broken  up,  but  still  I  keep  thinking  how  pleasant 


264          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

it  would  be  to  lie  in  my  cool  green  room  and 
have  her  fuss  around  me  as  she  used  to  do  when  I 
had  a  cold  or  a  headache.  There's  a  comfort  in 
this,  and  in  feeling  that  no  matter  what  I've  done 
I  do  belong  to  mamma  and  she'd  never  give  me 
the  cold  shoulder. 

But  then,  as  I  said,  I  hear  she's  not  as  she  was, 
and  perhaps  no  one  else  would  care  to  see  me  at 
home.  Do  you  think  David  would  take  me  back  ? 
I  don't  expect  his  forgiveness,  nor  that  he  could 
the  least  bit  regard  me  as  he  used  to  do.  But  he 
may  forgive  me  enough  to  let  me  go  back  to  my 
home,  which  is  his  now.  I  want  to  go  home  and 
rest,  and  this  is  all  I  care  about.  Will  you  ask 
him,  Anne,  and  write  to  me?  I'm  so  tired  of 
myself.  You  never  can  know  just  how  utterly  sick 
and  weary  I  am.  My  face  in  the  glass  frightens 
me,  it  is  so  lean  and  bloodless.  I  long  so  to  rest, 
to  fall  asleep  in  a  safe  place  and  not  think  or  care 
what  the  end  may  be.  You  won't  believe  it, 
maybe,  but  I'm  not  a  bit  pretty  any  more.  I've 
gone  off  horribly.  At  first  I  minded,  but  I  don't 
now.  Nothing  seems  to  matter.  I've  had  my 
cake  and  eaten  it.  It  disappointed  me,  and 
there's  no  one  to  blame  but  myself.  Cable  me 
here  at  "The  Langham,"  and  if  I  may  return  I'll 
go  home  at  once.  I  wish  now  I'd  never  gone  on 
the  stage.  But  what's  the  use  of  crying  when  the 
harm's  done  ?  Do  try  and  think  kindly  of  me  and 
welcome  me  back. 

OLGA. 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          265 

Anne  read  the  letter  twice,  and  the 
picture  her  fancy  conjured  of  Olga  made 
a  pain  rise  in  her  throat.  Of  course  she 
would  speak  to  David  as  soon  as  he 
came  in,  and  of  course  Olga  would 
return.  The  pity  in  David's  heart 
would  let  him  receive  back  this  wasted, 
disappointed  woman,  and  she  would 
scarcely  remind  him  of  the  splendid 
beauty  who  had  failed  him  when  he 
needed  her  most.  Soon  Olga  would  be 
home,  creeping  like  the  ghost  of  herself 
through  the  familiar  rooms.  Her  soft 
step  would  be  heard  on  the  stairs.  She 
might  be  changed  in  soul  and  heart, 
and  in  her  weakness  and  defeat  be  to 
David  what  he  had  longed  to  make  her. 

As  Anne  stood  with  the  letter  in  her 
hand  she  heard  the  street  door  close 
softly.  Without  giving  herself  time  to 
think  what  she  should  say  she  went 
down  to  the  study.  The  full  gaslight 
poured  on  David  as  he  stood  by  the 
table,  his  chin  lowered.  His  face  was 
more  than  fatigued :  it  was  pinched,  and 
she  could  see  a  moisture  on  his  fore- 


266          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

head.  He  looked  up,  but  did  not  greet 
her,  or  move. 

"  David,"  she  said  uncertainly,  "  don't 
be  angry,  but  I  must  speak  to  you  of 
Olga." 

He  drew  in  his  breath  and  closed  his 
eyes. 

"  Ah,  you  know,  then,  — you  know! " 
he  murmured.  • 

"  I've  a  letter  from  her."  And  she 
held  it  out  to  him.  "  She's  very  ill  and 
wants  to  come  home. .  She  wants  me 
to  ask"  — 

He  seized  the  hand  that  held  the 
letter  and  looked  suffering,  forbidding. 

"You'll  let  her  come  home  here,  won't 
you?  I  was  sure  you  would.  She 
seems  to  want  nothing  else;  she  doesn't 
expect  or  ask  for  forgiveness"  — 

"  Oh,  hush!  "  he  said  wildly  and  with 
difficulty,  opening  his  other  hand  and 
showing  a  crushed  cablegram.  "  I  can 
never  tell  her  now  that  I  would  have 
pitied  her,  yes,  even  forgiven  her  the 
wrong  she  did  me,  for  she's  dead,  Anne. 
You  can  read  it  there.  She  died  to-day." 


Chapter  XXIII 

IT  was  a  wild  night.  An  icy  torrent 
of  rain  was  tossed  by  a  wind  which 
seemed  sent  to  wail  over  the  world. 

The  study  where  David  Temple  sat 
was  as  cheery  as  firelight  and  shaded 
lamplight  could  make  it.  He  was  con- 
scious only  vaguely  of  the  sputtering 
coals  sending  up  fuchsia-tinted  sparks, 
and  of  the  furious  rain  shaking  the 
window  casings,  while  his  thoughts 
wandered  into  dreams  of  other  places 
and  times. 

Save  for  the  servants,  he  now  lived 
alone  in  the  old  Waverly-place  house. 
It  was  strange  to  sit  there  on  this  Jan- 
uary-night and  hear  neither  voice  nor 
footstep,  to  find  himself  listening  gladly 
to  the  clock's  light  strokes,  feeling  de- 
pressed when  the  last  vibration  had 

whirred  into  the  silence. 
267 


268          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

Olga  had  been  dead  six  months.  He 
thought  of  her  grave  in  Greenwood;  her 
mother's  but  the  reach  of  an  arm  from 
her  —  the  finale  to  a  story  in  those  two 
mounds;  of  Dr.  Ericsson,  gone  to  spend 
his  last  years  in  Sweden,  in  the  house 
•where  he  was  born,  and  which  had  come 
to  him  a  few  months  before  through  the 
death  of  a  brother;  of  Anne,  but  lately 
returned  to  her  old  rooms,  her  life  un- 
changed. 

David  rose  and  paced  the  room,  a  line 
creeping  down  between  his  brows.  The 
silence  seemed  speaking  to  him  of  Anne 
to-night.  She  had  been  the  star  of  his 
life.  He  freely  acknowledged  it.  She 
had  drained  much  of  the  bitterness  from 
his  adversities.  No  man  could  have  had 
a  more  satisfying  companion,  a  better 
friend.  These  blessings  had  been  his, 
though  they  were  neither  his  right  nor 
his  reward. 

He  wanted  to  tell  her  this  and  more. 
She  had  been  ill,  the  result  of  a  heavy 
cold,  and  on  the  morrow  would  leave 
for  a  holiday  in  the  South.  Something 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          269 

urged  him  not  to  let  her  leave  New 
York  without  expressing  what  she  had 
no  doubt  come  to  realize  —  how  much 
her  going  from  under  the  same  roof  had 
taken  from  his  life. 

"  Yes,  I  miss  her,"  he  said  in  con- 
centrated accents  as  he  stood  still  and 
listened,  with  the  subtler  inner  hearing, 
to  the  silence  wrapping  the  house. 

He  stepped  into  the  hall.  The  gas 
was  burning  brightly,  but  the  curve  of 
the  high  staircase  was  lost  in  shadow. 
He  thought  of  how  often  Anne  had 
come  down,  humming  a  song.  But  a 
few  nights  before  Dr.  Ericsson's  de- 
parture he  remembered  her  hurrying 
back  halfway  to  say  good-night  to  him, 
and  how  her  long  braid  of  hair  becom- 
ing loosened  had  swept  his  cheek  like  a 
silky  lash.  It  had  been  an  incident  for 
a  laugh  then,  but  now  the  memory  of 
her  tress's  touch,  her  hand,  her  eyes, 
made  him  resent  his  loneliness. 

He  went  into  the  drawing-room,  but 
came  out  of  it  quickly.  It  was  there 
among  the  teacups  and  in  the  firelight 


270          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

he  had  asked  Olga  to  be  his  wife,  there 
her  coffin  had  stood.  It  was  a  hated 
room.  Ghosts  were  its  tenantry. 

Going  back  to  the  study  fire,  he  lighted 
a  cigar.  The  past  unrolled  itself  before 
him,  and  he  tried  to  forecast  the  years  to 
come.  The  deductions  from  his  rea- 
soning were  as  clear  and  strong  as  if 
spoken  by  a  bell-like  voice  beside  him. 

Loneliness  was  horrible.  It  turned 
a  man  into  an  intellectual  machine, 
warped  his  nature,  put  him  out  of  touch 
with  his  kind.  Once  he  had  been  proud 
to  stand  quite  alone,  absolute  master  of 
every  heart-throb  and  every  moment, 
but  he  had  tasted  the  joy  of  a  sympa- 
thetic woman's  daily  companionship, 
and  was  unfitted  forever  for  a  self-con- 
tained life  where  the  ego  was  supreme 
and  ambition  the  ruling  passion. 

If  he  had  learned  this  from  the  year 
of  life  under  one  roof  with  Anne,  how 
much  deeper  the  lesson  would  be  if  she 
had  been  his  wife!  If  Anne  had  been 
his  wife  !  The  words  filled  him  with 
passive  regret  as  he  lifted  her  photo- 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          271 

graph  from  the  mantel  and  looked  into 
the  eyes  which  seemed  even  there  to 
question  and  comfort  him. 

If  he  could  have  loved  her,  if  he  could 
but  love  her  now,  as  any  man,  the 
greatest,  might  be  proud  to  love  her! 
His  feeling  for  her  was  very  near  the 
richest  his  nature  could  produce.  Gen- 
tleness and  sympathy  were  in  it,  pride 
and  reverence.  It  but  lacked  passion 
to  make  it  perfect.  This  he  had  known 
for  one  woman,  an  unreasoning,  intoxi- 
cating love,  without  substance  or  depth. 
Anne  did  not  arouse  it  in  him,  he  could 
not  add  it  to  the  mixed  longings  which 
made  her  necessary  to  him  ;  very  prob- 
ably it  would  forever  escape  him. 

Need  this  prevent  him  from  asking 
her  to  be  his  wife,  from  making  her 
happy  should  she  give  herself  to  him  ? 
What  he  had  to  offer  was  better  far 
than  what  he  lacked  —  the  fever  of  pas- 
sion which  could  thrive  in  the  most 
meagre  natures;  the  most  evanescent, 
the  basest  ingredient  of  all  in  love. 
Anne  could  be  dear  and  necessary  to 


272          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

him  without  this  madness  which  could 
never  come  again  to  him.  Without 
being  in  love  with  her,  he  loved  her 
tenderly.  Was  there  as  much  impor- 
tance in  the  subtle  difference  as  ro- 
mantic minds  supposed  ? 

His  head  was  cool,  his  heart  craving 
sympathy.  He  desired  urgently  not  so 
much  Anne's  kiss  as  her  companion- 
ship, not  to  give  himself  into  her 
power  and  lose  himself  in  her,  but  to 
know  the  happiness  of  her  dependence 
on  him. 

When  his  cigar  was  finished,  he 
went  back  to  the  table  and  looked 
down  at  the  letter  he  had  begun  to 
her. 

"  My  dear  Anne."  The  stereotyped 
words  were  so  wholly  inadequate  they 
irritated  him.  He  crushed  the  paper 
in  his  palm  and  flung  it  into  the  fire. 
He  would  go  to  her.  As  he  took  his 
overcoat  and  hat  from  the  stand  in  the 
hall  he  muttered  impatiently  : 

"  What  shall  I  say  to  her  ?  How 
can  I  put  it  to  her  ?  " 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          273 

In  a  few  moments  he  was  on  the 
street,  making  his  way  against  the 
wind  to  her  rooms  on  Washington 
place,  where  some  of  the  most  con- 
tented hours  of  his  life  had  been 
spent. 

The  flames  in  the  lamps,  reflected  in 
the  drenched  pavements,  danced  under 
his  feet;  the  crossed  streets  lay  in  stormy 
shadow;  icicles  on  trees  and  palings 
clinked  in  the  rush  of  the  freezing  rain; 
once  the  numbed  face  of  a  beggar 
looked  at  him  ;  once  a  stray  dog 
pressed  lonesomely  against  him  as  he 
strode  on.  The  world  seemed  full  of 
mist  and  pain,  but  there  was  peace  in 
his  soul,  and  when  he  saw  the  firelight 
on  Anne's  windows  he  felt  almost 
ashamed  of  the  sense  of  well-being 
which  came  to  him  while  others  in 
the  world  suffered. 

Anne  opened  the  door  of  the  sitting- 
room  herself.  She  was  all  in  white, 
of  some  thick,  heavy-falling  material, 
and  behind  her  dark  head  the  room 
swam  in  rosy  gloom.  The  air  was 


274          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

heavy  with  the  perfume  of  roses.  He 
seemed  entering  a  garden  with  Anne 
by  his  side,  pale  from  her  illness  and 
with  dovelike  eyes. 

A  soul-wave  of  mutual  comprehen- 
sion made  him  feel  his  coming  had  been 
half-expected  and  that  she  was  glad. 
When  he  had  made  her  sit  again  in  the 
low  arm-chair  and  had  arranged  the  silk 
pillow  at  a  comfortable  angle  for  her 
head,  he  sat  down  beside  her  and  looked 
at  her  earnestly. 

"  Almost  well  again,  aren't  you  ?  "  he 
said  gladly.  "  Your  face  is  getting  back 
its  rounded  look,  and  soon  you  won't 
get  a  single  bit  of  sympathy." 

"  I  don't  deserve  any,"  Anne  said,  an 
excited  catch  in  her  voice.  "  I  assure 
you,  reposing  on  this  pillow  in  a  sort  of 
Cleopatra  attitude,  I  feel  quite  a  fraud. 
I'd  like  to  have  gone  for  a  tramp  in  this 
wild  rain.  Listen  to  it.  How  it  sighs 
and  sputters,  and  then  it  comes  on  with 
a  sweep  ! " 

While  the  words  left  her  lips  she  was 
thinking  that  it  was  strange  and  troub- 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          275 

ling  to  be  there  alone  with  David,  the 
firelight  on  his  near  face,  while  beyond 
the  close-curtained  windows  the  storm 
called  and  called  to  them  in  vain. 

She  knew  why  he  had  come.  Her 
intuitive  mind  leaping  to  conclusions 
told  her  that  words  having  no  kinship 
to  farewell  were  faltering  on  his  lips. 
She  felt  a  sudden  uneasiness  and  ex- 
citement. The  beating  of  her  heart 
was  painful. 

"  You'll  be  gone  a  month  ?  " 

"  At  least  a  month,"  she  nodded. 
"  I'm  revelling  in  the  thought  of  get- 
ting back  to  summer  and  for  the  first 
time  smelling  a  lily-field  in  bloom.  The 
word  '  Bermuda '  has  an  exotic  sound 
to  me.  Have  you  ever  been  there?" 

"  No,"  he  said  absently,  and,  leaning 
nearer,  said  earnestly,  "  I'll  miss  you  so, 
Anne." 

His  fingers  touched  hers,  and  she  met 
his  eyes.  They  were  grave  and  domi- 
nant. 

"  And  how  I've  missed  you  these  last 
five  weeks!  "  he  went  on.  "  I  find  my- 


276          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

self  listening  for  your  step,  for  memory 
plays  me  cruel  tricks.  But  you  are 
gone,  and  I  have  to  learn  all  over  the 
lesson  of  philosophy.  I've  grown  to 
hate  the  place.  Just  to  look  at  the 
corner  of  the  table  where  you  used  to 
pour  coffee  for  me  makes  me  blue." 

As  he  spoke  quietly  and  half  confid- 
ingly Anne  became  aware  of  a  disap- 
pointment in  herself.  He  was  going  to 
say  more.  What  had  been  her  dearest 
dream  was  going  to  intensify  itself  into 
a  certainty  to-night,  and  yet  she  was 
aware  that  if  some  interruption  had 
come  and  David  had  been  forced  to 
leave  her  with  the  words  unsaid,  she 
would  have  been  relieved. 

"Yes,  I've  missed  you,  and  I  will 
miss  you,"  he  continued,  and  lifted  her 
hand  to  his  lips.  "Does  it  matter  at 
all  to  you?  Does  it  matter  that  you 
are  very  dear  to  me,  and  I  want  you 
always?  Will  you  be  my  wife,  Anne? 
Will  you?" 

A  sense  of  coming  triumph  filled 
David  as  he  spoke.  He  was  aware  he 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          277 

had  not  feared  failure.  During  the  last 
year  Anne  had  so  let  herself  be  knitted 
with  his  life  it  seemed  only  a  natural 
conclusion  that  he  was  as  necessary  to 
her  as  she  to  him.  Besides,  he  had 
never  failed  in  anything  save  his  mar- 
riage, and  without  egotism  he  did  not 
consider  that  this  pale  and  lonely  woman 
whose  affection  he  had  tested  could  dis- 
appoint him  now. 

But  Anne  drew  away  from  him,  and 
while  his  hand  still  held  hers  a  wave  of 
relief  from  the  deeps  of  her  soul  went 
over  her.  She  seemed  suddenly  set 
free  from  chains.  David's  manner,  his 
gentle,  tender  words,  had  left  her  cold. 
He  was  clear-eyed,  sensible,  happy,  but 
temperate  and  master  of  himself.  She 
felt  no  desire  to  respond  to  his  touch  or 
glance.  Instead  there  leaped  into  her 
mind  a  regret  that,  without  quite  real- 
izing why,  she  must  deny  him. 

"  Anne,"  he  said  again,  his  face  anx- 
ious now,  "  Anne,  can  you  —  can  you 
love  me?  Will  you  marry  me?" 

She   stood   up  and  turned  her  head 


278          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

away,  still  feeling  strange  to  herself. 
When  she  spoke  she  obeyed  a  new 
knowledge,  imperative,  yet  mystifying. 

"  David,"  she  said  slowly,  almost 
wonderingly,  "  I  don't  love  you  that 
way." 

He  remained  silent  until  she  forced 
herself  to  look  fully  at  him. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  as  if  it  were  the  first 
breath  he  had  taken  since  she  had 
replied,  "  is  it  so  ?  I  had  hoped  —  but 
no  matter  now." 

Anne  gazed  shrinkingly  at  his  seri- 
ous, composed  face  and  held  out  her 
hands.  He  took  them  and  looked  ten- 
derly at  her. 

"  We'll  forget  this,  Anne,"  he  said. 

Her  eyes  looked  frankly  and  sorrow- 
fully into  his. 

"  I  go  away  to-morrow."  Her  fin- 
gers held  his  closely.  "  Say  good-by, 
and  say  it  as  if  you  forgave  me." 

"  For  what  ?  My  dear  Anne,  you 
need  no  forgiveness  from  me." 

"  I've  given  you  some  pain,  David. 
I've  disappointed  you.  I'm  sorry." 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          279 

"  You  couldn't  help  it,"  he  said. 
"  You  don't  love  me.  How  are  you  to 
blame  for  that  ?  " 

Her  mind  grasped  at  the  words 
eagerly.  It  was  true.  She  could  not 
help  it.  She  was  not  to  blame. 

"  Good-night,  Anne.  I  hope  your 
holiday  will  do  you  good,  and  I  know 
it  will,"  David  said,  quite  in  his  usual 
tone.  "  Don't  fail  to  let  me  know  when 
you  return." 

She  let  him  go  with  another  word, 
and  went  back  to  the  fire.  For  a  long 
time  she  crouched  over  the  coals,  her 
face  sheltered  by  her  hands.  Nora's 
entreaties  about  preparations  for  bed 
were  unheeded. 

"  I  want  to  be  alone,"  she  said,  push- 
ing the  girl  away.  "  Come  back  by 
and  by." 

She  sat  in  the  empty  room,  watching 
the  fire  sink  lower.  She  was  groping 
in  the  dark  for  an  understanding  of  her 
own  heart  and  the  reasons  which  had 
made  her  refuse  to  be  David  Temple's 
wife. 


280          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

She  had  loved  him  the  night  he  had 
sat  in  this  same  room  and  told  her  of 
Olga.  She  had  continued  to  love  him 
miserably,  with  passion,  and  had  strug- 
gled to  forget  him  through  conflicts  of 
regret.  In  the  days  when  peace  had 
come  to  her  he  had  still  seemed  the 
most  important  and  dearest  in  the 
world.  She  had  many  times  thought 
of  him  so  during  the  year  spent  in  the 
same  house  with  him. 

Why,  then,  when  he  had  spoken  the 
words  she  had  believed  would  hold  the 
richest  harmony  in  her  life  had  they 
meant  none  of  these  dear  things  ?  Why 
had  they  not  been  acceptable  ? 

Light  came  slowly,  and  she  under- 
stood. 

She  had  outlived  her  love  for  David 
Temple  without  having  become  aware 
of  the  change  in  herself.  She  had  not 
even  pitied  him  acutely,  as  women  do 
pity  what  they  must  hurt. 

Was  he  hurt  very  much?  He  had 
been  very  sure  of  her.  With  fine,  con- 
vincing intuition  she  had  felt  the  confi- 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          281 

dence  underlying  his  caressing  words, 
had  divined  it  in  his  calm  eyes.  He 
missed  her,  that  was  true  enough; 
needed  her,  for  the  simplest  and  most 
sensible  reasons.  He  was  fond  of 
her.  She  had  his  admiration,  confi- 
dence, respect.  From  habit  she  had 
become  necessary  to  him.  His  silent 
house  required  a  mistress,  his  life  a 
companion.  But  the  love  which  comes 
to  curse  or  bless  a  life,  and  which  is 
all  of  life,  was  not  there.  Even  the  ex- 
altation of  the  senses,  miscalled  love, 
which  he  had  felt  for  Olga,  was  absent. 
There  was  no  illusion,  no  pain,  no 
romance,  in  David's  affection  for  her. 
It  was  quiet,  well-balanced,  whole- 
some. She  knew  she  was  the  passion- 
less choice  of  his  calm,  wise  moments. 
The  thoughts  came  and  went,  and  left 
her  like  a  stone. 

Nora  tiptoed  in,  a  muddy  letter  in  her 
hand. 

"  The  fool  of  a  postman,  to  save 
cooling  his  feet,  put  this  under  the  mat, 
instead  of  ringing  the  bell.  It's  a  sorry- 


282  A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

looking  letter  it  is  now,"  and  Nora 
dried  it  on  her  apron  before  putting  it 
in  Anne's  outstretched  hand. 

It  was  from  Donald.  Her  eyes 
brightened  as  she  took  it  quickly  and 
drew  the  rustling  pages  from  the  enve- 
lope. She  read: 

DEAREST  ANNE  :  It's  very  quiet  where  I  sit 
to-night  writing  to  you.  The  short  twilight  has 
disappeared  into  a  dark,  blue  night,  the  Southern 
Cross  is  in  the  sky,  and  the  few  other  stars  are 
bigger  and  brighter  than  the  many  at  home.  How 
far  away  you  are  from  me  !  Somehow  I  never  felt 
so  alone  in  the  wilderness  as  I  do  to-night.  A 
longing  to  see  you  eats  at  my  heart.  There  is  no 
voice  in  the  world  as  sweet  as  yours.  I  love  your 
eyes,  the  way  your  lips  look  when  you  laugh.  Oh, 
Anne,  Anne,  if  I  could  see  you  now ! 

These  fancies  are  wild,  you  will  think  maybe. 
Oh,  but  I  do  love  you  so  !  A  nigger  somewhere  in 
the  darkness  outside  is  playing  a  passionate  tune 
on  a  tin  flute,  and  the  savage  notes  go  through  me, 
racking  me  with  a  miserable  sort  of  happiness, 
they  are  so  like  the  ache  I  feel  to  see  you,  to  touch 
you  ! 

I've  worked  very  faithfully.  The  men  I'm 
thrown  with,  Armitage  and  Morgan,  are  bully 
good  fellows  and,  like  me,  are  hoping  and  toiling, 
with  prosperity  under  another  sky  as  the  reward. 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          283 

I  like  them  both  immensely,  and  I  think  they  like 
me  pretty  well. 

I  wish  you  could  see  your  two  books.  You'd 
hardly  know  them,  they  are  so  thumbed.  I  almost 
know  them  by  heart.  There's  a  bright  future  for 
you,  Anne,  dear.  Oh,  I  hope  you'll  have  all  your 
dreams  realized,  every  one  !  But  there's  bitter- 
ness in  the  thought  for  me.  I  see  more  and  more 
how  much  I  aspire  to  in  loving  you,  how  mad  the 
dream  that  maybe  —  But  I  can't  go  on.  Noth- 
ing can  alter  the  fact  that  I  do  love  you,  and, 
though  you  go  quite  out  of  my  life  and  marry  and 
are  happy  without  one  thought  of  me,  I  must  still 
love  you.  Nothing  can  alter  that. 

Oh,  I  wonder  will  you  ever  love  me.  Will  I 
ever  be  able  to  go  to  you  and  ask  you  that  ?  Will 
I  dare  ?  What  you've  been  to  me  !  Only  to-day 
as  I  stood  watching  the  negroes  among  the  coffee 
shrubs  I  thought  of  the  night  in  the  mines  when 
we  sat  with  our  hands  clasped  in  the  blackness 
and  I  talked  to  you  of  my  wretched  self  as  I'd 
never  spoken  to  any  living  being,  and  the  night 
when  Joe  died  and  I  tried  to  tell  you  all  that  was 
in  my  heart.  Do  you  remember  it  as  I  do?  I 
kissed  your  hair  that  night.  You  didn't  know  it. 
Afterward,  when  you  looked  at  me,  your  beautiful 
face  so  white,  and  whispered,  "  I'll  remember, 
Donald,"  I  thought  my  heart  would  burst  with  pain 
and  joy.  How  I  wish  I  could  have  my  life  to  live 
over  again  and  be  at  this  moment  the  man  God 
had  meant  me  to  be,  not  full  of  bitter  memories, 


284          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

still  half  afraid  after  fighting  the  habits  of  years  ! 
If  away  back  in  the  past  when  I  was  a  little  chap  I 
could  have  known  that  one  day  I'd  meet  you,  love 
you,  need  you  so,  how  little  all  that  was  miserable 
would  have  seemed  —  only  a  time  of  darkness  to 
be  lived  through  somehow  with  happiness  awaiting 
me  at  the  end  ! 

These  are  thoughts  which  haunt  me  all  the  time, 
though  I've  little  enough  time  to  think.  There's 
so  much  to  do  I've  grown  very  practical.  But  it's 
so  quiet  here  to-night,  and  you  are  so  very  far 
away,  and  I  do  crave  with  physical  pain  for  one 
sight  of  you,  and  the  nigger's  melody  has  fired 
my  blood,  and  a  queer  bird  outside  my  window 
utters  now  and  then  a  soft  good-night  note  as  sad 
as  death. 

Oh,  to  have  you  beside  me  in  this  little  room 
just  for  a  moment,  to  bless  it  for  all  the  days  to 
come  with  the  magic  of  your  smile  !  I  love  you 
dearly,  Anne ;  need  you  more. 

I  suppose  you  are  very  much  at  home  again  in 
your  old  rooms.  I  can  fancy  the  year  you  spent 
in  Waverly  place  was  deadly  dull,  although  you 
wouldn't  say  so.  You  say  David  has  bought  the 
old  mansion  from  the  doctor  and  regularly  settled 
down  there.  I  wonder  why  he  does  this  unless  he 
intends  to  remain  a  hermit  or  marry  again. 

Do  you  know  I  feel  sorry  for  David  !  Yet  I 
don't  think  it  would  please  him  to  think  any  one 
felt  pity  for  him.  I  used  to  think  in  the  dark 
days  before  you  came  to  me  it  would  be  the 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          285 

sweetest  moment  in  my  life  to  see  him  in  some 
position  where  I  could  pity  him.  He  used  to 
antagonize  and  attract  me  in  the  one  hour.  But 
that's  past  and  done  with.  There's  not  a  tinge  of 
envy  in  my  feeling  for  him  now.  Since  his  wife's 
death  he's  written  to  me  very  seldom.  Do  you 
think  he  loved  her  very  much?  Does  he  make 
you  his  confidante  now  as  he  used  to  do  ?  You 
and  he  were  great  chums  once.  I  hated  him 
then.  And  once  —  shall  I  tell  you?  —  I  thought 
that  maybe  he  might  love  you  and  win  you.  If 
he  had,  I  think  I'd  have  gone  mad  with  grief. 
David's  had  everything  all  his  life,  and  had  it 
before  my  longing  eyes.  But  if  you'd  loved  him, 
Anne,  I  would  have  suffered  pangs  too  intolerable 
to  think  of  without  agony.  I  can  lose  you  to 
another  man  and  bear  my  disappointment  as  well 
as  I  can.  But  to  David  Temple  —  I  can't  bear  to 
think  of  it.  It  would  seem  too  wretchedly  con- 
sistent with  all  that's  gone  before.  But  you're  not 
going  to  marry  him,  so  I'll  stop  tormenting  my- 
self this  way. 

How  long  will  it  be  before  I  see  you  ?  I  have 
succeeded  moderately,  have  paid  David  his  loan 
and  made  some  money  besides.  One  year  more 
of  this  and  I'll  be  able  to  go  home.  Home  ! 
One  year !  And  then  ?  Well,  you  know  all  I 
dream  of.  You  are  everything  to  me.  You  seem 
near  to  me  some  days.  I  wonder  if  your  thoughts 
stray  to  me  now  and  then  and  I  feel  them  ?  Oh, 
do  think  of  me,  and  as  tenderly  as  you  can  !  Do 


286          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

you  understand  how  I  love  you  ?  Do  you  know 
what  you  are  to  me?  I  cannot  write  more. 
Good-night. 

DONALD. 

The  letter  slipped  from  Anne's  fingers 
and  lay  a  small,  white  patch  against  the 
whiter  hem  of  her  gown.  She  thrust 
her  hands  out  invitingly.  Her  eyes  had 
the  look  of  a  child's  in  the  dark  waiting 
for  the  coming  of  the  light.  The  breath 
came  and  went  unevenly  through  her 
parted  lips.  A  happy  smile  broke  over 
her  face. 

She  picked  the  letter  up  and  pressed 
it  to  her  lips  several  times  before  she 
spoke  to  it,  as  if  to  one  who  listened: 

"  I  know  —  I  know  all  now  !  My 
dear,  dear,  dear  !  " 


Chapter  XXIV 

A  MAN  on  horseback  appeared  at  the 
head  of  the  road  leading  from  one 
of  the  cup-shaped  hills  to  the  Fazenda 
Ricardo,  in  the  province  of  Rio  Janeiro. 
He  wore  a  short  white  coat  and  nan- 
keen trousers.  A  blue  scarf,  loosely 
knotted,  showed  a  few  inches  of  darkly 
tanned  throat.  A  wide-leafed  straw 
hat,  evidently  of  Brazilian  manufact- 
ure, was  pulled  over  his  eyes.  Even 
in  shadow  the  eyes  were  unmistakably 
Donald  Sefain's. 

He  pulled  in  his  horse  and  remained 
lost  in  a  study  of  the  scene,  while  the 
sunlight  of  a  Brazilian  January  bathed 
him  in  an  intense  flood. 

On  every  hand  as  far  as  the  eye  could 

see  the  land    was  prostrate  under   the 

stare  of  a  pitiless  sky.     There  was  no 

shadow  near  him  save  that  of  his  horse 

287 


288          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

and  his  own  broad-hatted  figure.  Half 
way  down  the  hill  one  bushy-headed 
palm  and  the  prongs  of  some  cacti  lay 
patterned  sharply  on  the  bare  and  daz- 
zling earth.  Below,  in  the  middle  dis- 
tance, he  saw  the  fazenda,  the  ugly  fac- 
tory, the  unsheltered  square  and  cluster 
of  outbuildings.  Behind  him  lay  the 
waving  line  of  hills  on  which  the  coffee 
shrubs  flourished,  and  from  which  the 
soft,  monotonous  chant  and  quavering 
of  the  negroes  came  to  him. 

This  scene  made  his  life  —  the  fazenda, 
the  coffee-bearing  hills,  the  unsheltered 
road  lying  between  them.  Ugly,  arid, 
lonely,  were  the  words  that  rose  in  his 
mind  as  he  paused  there.  The  very 
truth  and  force  of  the  artist  in  him  made 
his  heart  rise  in  revolt.  Hatred  and 
longing  were  in  his  steady  gaze. 

In  a  few  moments  another  rider  came 
out  of  the  plantation  and  drew  up  be- 
side him.  He  was  a  big,  fair-haired 
man,  his  light  blue  eyes  a  strange  anom- 
aly in  his  senna-brown  face.  When  he 
spoke,  his  broad,  musical  accent  con- 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          289 

jured  a  vision  of  English  fields  on  a 
spring  morning  instead  of  the  hot,  sloth- 
ful land  blazing  around  him. 

"  Waiting  for  me,  Sefain  ?  " 

"  No,  I  was  thinking.  I  knew  you'd 
follow." 

The  Englishman  looked  at  him,  hesi- 
tated, and  at  length  spoke: 

"  Sefain,  you're  making  a  hard  fight 
here,  aren't  you?  "  He  asked  the  ques- 
tion abruptly  as  they  moved  on  at  a 
crawling  pace. 

"Why?"  and  Donald's  uncommuni- 
cative soul,  aroused  to  interest,  looked 
for  a  moment  speculatively  from  his 
brilliant  eyes. 

"Oh,  I  can  see  it!  You  hold  your 
tongue  better  than  any  man  I've  ever 
met,  and  I've  knocked  about  a  bit  in 
this  contrary  world.  But  I  know  you 
are  simply  sickening  for  a  sight  of  home 
—  and  some  woman." 

The  words  sent  a  dark  flush  up  Don- 
ald's cheek,  and  his  silence  was  cold. 

"  Fact!  But  don't  suppose  I'm  trying 
to  force  your  confidence,  my  boy."  He 


290          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

laid  his  hand  on  Donald's  wrist.  "  I 
speak  this  way  because  —  well,  be- 
cause I'm  deuced  sorry  for  you  "  — 

"  You're  wasting  your  pity,  then. 
What  the  devil  do  you  mean  ?  One 
would  think  I'd  been  playing  the  part 
of  a  sentimental  fool." 

"  Hold  on,  mi  amigo.  Let  not  the 
r  Inglezes '  quarrel  and  set  a  bad  example 
to  these  brown  beggars  here  ; "  and  an 
imperturbable  smile  distended  Armi- 
tage's  full  cheeks.  "  I  haven't  finished. 
I'm  sorry,  and  I'm  envious  at  the  same 
time.  God!  To  be  not  yet  thirty  and 
in  love!  To  know  the  world  only  in 
one  pair  of  eyes  and  comprehend 
heaven  in  the  touch  of  five  slim  fingers ! 
What  wouldn't  I  give  to  feel  this,  tell 
myself  fondly  I  was  a  fool,  and  be  glad 
I  was  1  Hug  your  misery,  my  boy.  Be 
such  a  fool.  Some  day,  maybe,  when 
you're  like  me  and  not  a  living  thing  is 
really  necessary  to  you,  when  you  know 
only  the  sleek  and  deadly  level  of  prac- 
tical self-content,  you'll  remember  and 
wish  the  longings  which  tear  you  now 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          291 

could  come  again  and  hurt  you.  That 
man  only  is  blest  whose  happiness  de- 
pends upon  another  human  being." 

Donald  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 
He  had  never  heard  words  like  these 
from  Armitage.  They  touched  him, 
too.  Over  his  lean  brown  face  a 
dreaminess  stole,  and  just  as  they 
crossed  the  fanlike  shadow  of  the  soli- 
tary palm  upon  the  roadway  he  moved 
Armitage's  hand  from  his  wrist  and 
gripped  it. 

"  Armitage,"  he  said,  roused  for  the 
moment  out  of  his  self-reserve,  "  I 
almost  wish,  then,  you  could  love  a 
woman  as  miserably,  as  passionately, 
perhaps  as  hopelessly,  as  I  do.  She  is 
the  desire  of  my  life  and  its  greatest 
good." 

"I  knew  it.  The  signs  never  fail. 
And  now  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  We 
might  as  well  here  as  at  the  fazenda. 
Why  don't  you  sell  out  to  me  or  to 
Morgan,  take  what  you've  made,  and 
go  home?" 

"Home?"  echoed  Donald,  unable  to 


292          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

repress  the  note  of  hope  and  yearning 
in  his  voice  at  sound  of  that  sweet 
word.  "Why?" 

"  Do  you  think  this "  —  with  a  con- 
temptuous gesture  toward  the  group  of 
low,  tiled-roof  buildings  and  the  bare 
land  —  "  pays  for  the  pain  in  the 
heart?  As  for  the  money  you  make, 
it's  not  much  for  the  struggle.  The 
days  are  gone  when  big  fortunes  were 
made  in  coffee-planting.  It  doesn't  mat- 
ter much  whether  my  bones  eventu- 
ally lie  under  this  sun  or  Korea's,  and 
it's  the  same  with  Morgan.  But  you 
—  well,  there's  a  woman  you  love  far 
away  from  this  wilderness.  For  God's 
sake,  seize  your  happiness,  sell  out,  and 
go  to  her!" 

"I  won't,"  said  Donald  quietly. 
"  I've  a  task  to  accomplish." 

"  Other  than  the  averaging  of  a  profit 
of  eight  shillings  and  tuppence  on  a 
bag  of  sixty  kilograms  ?  " 

u  Other  than  that.  I  am  content 
with  these  medium  profits.  I  came 
here  not  only  to  conquer  or,  at  least, 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          293 

disarm  fortune,  but  to  conquer  myself. 
I'll  stay  the  time  I  intended." 

They  rode  on  silently.  An  old  ne- 
gress  with  a  child  on  her  hip  stopped 
in  the  middle  of  the  road,  her  palm 
outstretched,  and,  following  a  curious 
custom,  cried  in  Spanish: 

"Bless  me!" 

"God  bless  you!"  said  Armitage, 
and  she  went  on. 

A  cart  drawn  by  goats  and  filled  with 
firewood  passed  them.  Black  vultures 
as  motionless  as  if  fashioned  in  basalt 
looked  down  from  the  stump  of  a  dead 
tree  as  they  neared  the  fazenda. 

On  nearer  view  the  details  of  the 
place  were  even  more  unlovely  than 
the  misty  whole  seen  from  the  hilltop. 
Cattle  grazed  loose  under  the  charge 
of  an  aged  negro  squatting  in  the  sun 
and  slumbering  with  his  almost  flesh- 
less  face  against  his  knee.  The  gates 
through  which  the  two  men  passed 
were,  like  everything  else  about  the 
place,  constructed  to  do  what  was 
required  of  them  lazily,  carelessly;  and 


294          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

having  been  swung  back  as  if  under 
protest  when  the  horses  were  pushed 
against  them,  they  returned  only  half 
way,  with  a  screech  from  rusty  hinges, 
and  stuck  fast  in  a  tuft  of  weeds.  A 
large  family  of  cats,  too  attenuated  to 
frolic,  strolled  languidly  around  the 
paved  square  or  sat  winking  their  half- 
blind  eyes  in  the  glare.  From  some 
of  the  white  laborers'  cottages  came 
the  smell  of  pork  and  frying  bread. 
Over  it  all  the  sun  flamed  hard. 

Donald  and  Armitage  alighted  at  the 
factory,  and  from  this  came  the  low 
crooning,  the  murmur  of  mixed  song, 
heard  wherever  the  negro  works. 

"  I'm  dead  for  a  siesta.  My  clothes 
seem  weighted  with  stones,"  said  Ar- 
mitage, yawning.  "  I  was  up  before  the 
sun  this  morning,  long  before  it,  —  so 
were  you,"  he  broke  off  suddenly, 
"and  by  George!  you  look  dead  beat. 
You'd  better  go  a  little  easier.  Do  as  I 
do,  Sefain.  After  your  coffee,  lie  down." 

"  I'm  going  to,"  said  Donald  list- 
lessly. 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          295 

"  Yes,  but  sleep.  Don't  lie  and 
think.  Why  don't  you  go  now  and 
let  Tomas  fetch  your  coffee  at  once? 
It's  almost  three." 

"  After  I  see  Seraphine  and  find  out 
what  that  rascal  of  an  agent  at  the 
railway  had  to  say  in  answer  to  my 
complaint.  Must  we  keep  trusting  his 
honesty  in  weighing  the  sacks?  I'd  as 
soon  trust  the  devil." 

"  Ah,  what  can  we  do  ?  That's  the 
leakage  through  which  our  profits  drip. 
But  because  time  and  exertion  are  as 
valuable  as  money  in  this  enervating 
plague-spot,  we  must  trust  as  we  go, 
and  be  cheated  from  the  moment  we 
leave  the  sacks  at  the  station  to  the  mo- 
ment they  are  shipped  in  Rio.  Don't 
let  me  think  of  it.  The  helplessness 
of  it  drives  me  frantic.  It's  too  hot  to 
object  even  to  being  fleeced,"  and  Armi- 
tage  swung  across  to  Morgan's  house, 
where  he  knew  pork  and  plantains  were 
waiting  for  him. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Donald,  with 
hands  in  trousers'  pockets  and  hat  tilted 


296          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

lazily  over  eyes  that  seemed  asleep, 
went  down  the  stone  square  to  the  end 
farthest  from  the  factory  and  paused 
before  a  small  house  exactly  like  the 
others  save  that  it  stood  apart,  a  palm 
within  a  few  feet  throwing  a  top-heavy 
shadow  across  its  white  fa9ade. 

Home  —  that  silent,  shaded  little 
house  of  four  small  rooms,  where  no 
familiar  face  ever  welcomed  him  and 
no  voice  but  his  own  or  his  servant's 
vibrated  on  the  sleepy  air.  As  Donald 
looked  upon  it  now,  the  quiet  place 
seemed  to  feel  the  dissatisfaction  aris- 
ing from  his  tormented  heart,  and  to 
meet  it  with  almost  servile  protest. 

He  had  done  what  he  could  to 
make  the  house  habitable.  It  was  even 
a  pretty  house  when  compared  with  the 
bare  hideousness  with  which  Armitage 
and  Morgan  were  content.  The  laced 
bamboo  flaps  on  the  windows  made  the 
place  swim  in  gloom  as  restful  after  the 
sunlight  as  the  feeling  of  a  cool  hand 
on  the  brow.  There  was  matting  on 
the  floor,  a  hammock  swung  in  a  corner, 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          297 

some  sketches  of  his  own  upon  the 
walls,  some  books  on  the  mantel  shelf. 
Chief  among  the  books  were  Anne's, 
and  just  above  them  hung  a  small, 
unframed  pastel  he  had  made,  showing 
her  face  with  the  expression  he  loved 
best,  the  eyes  glancing  sideways,  half- 
questioning,  tender. 

He  dropped  the  big  manila  hat  to 
the  floor,  sank  into  a  cane  chair,  and 
stretched  his  body  out  in  a  way  expres- 
sive of  unspeakable  weariness.  Now 
that  his  forehead  was  bared,  the  sun's 
strength  was  seen  in  the  pallor  of  the 
skin  just  below  the  hair,  making  a  di- 
vision as  sharp  as  a  sabre  cut. 

Armitage  was  right:  he  was  used  up 
and  needed  a  rest.  His  hand  sought 
some  cigars  upon  a  small  table  and 
then  slipped  back.  It  would  be  better 
not  to  smoke  until  Tomas  had  brought 
his  coffee  —  Tomas  of  the  many  lies, 
the  sickly-sweet  smile,  and  the  coral- 
tipped  pendants  in  objectionable  ears. 

All  sorts  of  thoughts  and  half 
thoughts  floated  through  his  mind  — 


298          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

the  heaviness  of  the  day,  the  knavery 
of  the  Portuguese  agent  on  the  Dom 
Pedro  II.  Railroad,  the  wish  to  make 
money  faster,  the  surprising  words 
Armitage  had  spoken  on  the  road,  and 
always,  no  matter  what  his  surface 
thought,  the  fierce  and  living  conscious- 
ness of  Anne  underlying  all,  the  un- 
governable longings  he  had  let  speak 
in  that  last  letter  to  her,  the  craving  for 
her  answer,  the  constantly  recurring 
waves  of  homesickness  checked  by 
returning  determinations  to  be  strong 
to  the  end. 

One  more  year  of  work,  and  he  would 
have  tested  himself  enough,  and  made 
enough  money  to  go  back  to  New  York. 
He  saw  the  town  plainly,  and  with 
an  unappeasable  longing.  There  were 
the  "Citizen"  offices,  the  panorama  of 
sparkling  bay  and  clotted  smoke  against 
a  copper  sky  seen  from  its  western  win- 
dows; the  brisk  crowds  on  Broadway, 
the  snow,  furs,  and  violets;  but  most 
of  all  Anne's  rooms,  the  firelight  clasp- 
ing her  as  in  a  confidence,  and  perhaps 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          299 

cold,  sweet  rain  washing  a  winter  plant 
upon  the  window-sill  —  cold,  cold,  sweet 
rain,  not  the  sticky  mist  and  windless 
showers  falling  at  intervals  in  this  hot 
season.  He  longed  to  feel  its  riot  and 
chill  against  his  face  and  hear  the  ring 
of  the  stone  pavements  under  his  tread, 
or  to  hurry  through  miles  of  frosty  sun- 
light to  Anne's  side  — 

Tomas  entered  with  the  coffee  and  a 
dish  of  peppered  chicken,  but  midway 
across  the  room  he  paused  and  let  his 
melancholy  eyes  rest  upon  his  master. 
He  was  asleep,  his  head  fallen  back, 
and  exhaustion  marking  the  features. 
Sleep  was  better  for  him  than  peppered 
chicken,  Tomas  reasoned,  and  remained 
considerately  quiet,  his  gaze  as  melan- 
choly, but  more  watchful,  as  he  lifted  a 
piece  of  the  meat  to  his  lips  with  his 
fingers  and  rhythmically  licked  their 
brown  tips.  It  was  indeed  well  for  his 
master  to  slumber  on,  and  if  he  took 
another  piece  there  would  still  be 
enough. 

Before     he     could    materialize     the 


300          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

thought  voices  outside  surprised  him. 
He  hurried  to  the  door  and  met  the 
Spanish  housekeeper  of  Senor  Morgan 
about  to  enter.  At  a  little  distance 
behind  her  he  saw  a  small  group  of 
people,  two  strange  women,  evidently 
"  Inglez,"  and  with  them  Senor  Armi- 
tage.  At  the  entrance  to  the  court 
stood  an  ox-cart  in  which  the  visitors 
must  have  come  from  the  station.  The 
heavy  beasts  were  rubbing  their  noses 
together,  moving  the  iron  bells  upon 
their  collars,  and  sending  a  lonely  clang 
through  the  sunlight. 

"  Mother  of  God,  the  senor  will  be 
surprised!  "  Morgan's  housekeeper  was 
saying  in  shrill  tones,  swaying  from 
hip  to  hip  in  her  excitement.  "  He  will 
shout  and  throw  his  hat  into  the  air  for 
joy  when  he  knows.  Ah,  you  will  all 
see !  Ay,  it  is  wonderful !  Out  of  the 
way,  stupid  pig!"  to  Tomas.  "I  am 
to  tell  the  senor  that  his  love  has  come 
to  him  over  thousands  of  miles." 

"The  senor  sleeps  as  if  the  sun  had 
touched  him,"  interposed  Tomas,  with  a 


A  Circle  in  the  Sand          301 

glance  of  murder,  for  he  hated  the 
housekeeper,  who  annoyed  his  reveries 
by  talking  too  much,  and  knew  so  well 
how  to  take  precise  aim  when  she  threw 
broken  crockery  at  him.  "  I  would  not 
rouse  him  for  the  chicken  even  "  — 

"  Because,  beast,  you  wanted  to  eat 
it  yourself!  This  is  more  important 
than  food.  Let  me  in!" 

Armitage  pulled  her  back  and  mo- 
tioned Tomas  aside. 

"  Go  away,  both  of  you !  "  he  said,  in 
a  whisper  of  command. 

He  turned  to  one  of  the  strangers. 
She  was  young,  dark-eyed,  a  little  too 
white  and  slender  for  his  idea  of  beauty, 
and  with  marks  of  travel  weariness  on 
her  face. 

"  Let  your  maid  wait  here.  You  will 
find  Sefain  in  this  house.  They  say  he 
is  sleeping." 

Anne's  lids  sank  for  a  moment  over 
her  eyes  as  if  a  throe  of  insupportable 
feeling  coursed  through  her,  which 
might  have  been  apprehension  or  love, 
and  she  entered  the  dim  room.  She 


302          A  Circle  in  the  Sand 

stood  with  loosely  clasped  hands  and 
looked  down  at  Donald.  Often  during 
the  travail  of  the  long  journey  so  im- 
pulsively undertaken,  she  had  won- 
dered what  emotions  would  come  to 
her  in  this  moment  when  she  faced  the 
struggler  who  needed  and  loved  her, 
the  man  she  loved. 

She  looked  at  him  in  silence  and  her 
lips  quivered.  She  was  stirred  with  a 
passionate  joy,  —  but  not  this  alone, — 
an  exquisite,  penetrating  pity,  the  desire 
to  shield  came  from  the  depths  of  her 
nature,  where  the  motherhood  lurks 
that  is  part  of  every  woman. 

Donald's  lids  showing  blue  against 
the  browned  and  sunken  face,  the  clam- 
miness upon  the  strip  of  pale  forehead, 
the  parched  lips  parted,  the  unguarded 
heart  crying  out  its  distress  in  the  fixed 
expression  of  sorrow  and  appeal,  were 
like  so  many  chords  around  her  heart 
drawing  her  toward  him.  She  had  done 
right  to  come  to  him. 

She  crossed  the  room  to  his  side. 
But  though  she  leaned  above  him,  he 


A  Circle  in  the   Sand          303 

still  slept,  not  knowing  heaven  was 
near.  She  sank  on  her  knees  and  laid 
her  cheek  upon  his  drooping  hand,  as 
she  called  him  clearly  twice. 

Donald  started  forward,  dazed.  The 
reality  came  in  Anne's  kiss  as  she  clung 
to  him. 


THE    END. 


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